REVENGE
by vmariew
Summary: Paris, summer 1630. (Set between e2 and e3 of S1). Louis is alarmed when he hears of a potential threat against him from some nobles. When Richelieu demands that Treville investigate the veracity of the rumours, the Musketeer Captain is under pressure, especially when it becomes clear that revenge can take many forms. I am just borrowing these characters from Dumas and the BBC.
1. Chapter 1

Welcome to the new adventure, Revenge. I know Repercussions is incomplete as yet but I wrote some of this so that I could upload it periodically whilst on my own adventure as I may well not have the time to write much new material. I did not want you to forget me! This actually follows on from Repercussions and will refer to things that you do already know. It also should be following a new challenge for me to write chapters of 1000 words - but I haven't quite manage it yet! I hope you enjoy it!

CHAPTER 1

Athos tipped his head back in order to drain the pewter mug of the last of the red wine.

"Another?" Aramis asked, proffering the bottle in his friend's direction. His eyes widened in mild surprise as Athos shook his head, set down the mug and rose from the table.

"It has been a long day and I confess to feeling tired," he explained.

"And you're not getting any younger," d'Artagnan dared to add, more into the depths of his own drink rather than directly to Athos, but it was loud enough to be heard and drew a guffaw of amusement from Porthos.

"You have not yet earned your pauldron, and although you are obviously prepared to face perils and swear to protect King and country, I would advise against taking unnecessary risks, like upsetting Athos," Aramis continued. "Besides, you ought to have learned by now that there is a hierarchy in insulting our brother so Porthos and I most definitely have the monopoly!"

Athos rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Had you allowed me to finish what I was saying, you would know that I am returning to my room where I have a bottle of particularly fine wine waiting for me, along with the new book I purchased. I am eager to relax and begin reading it."

"So a book is better company than us," Porthos said, adopting a forlorn air.

"You twist my words as usual but," and here the corners of Athos' mouth twitched, "now you come to mention it, I would prefer the smell and touch of a newly bound leather tome than getting too close to you in your leathers after a day spent sparring with recruits."

He leaped out of reach as Porthos grabbed his own wide-brimmed hat and swiped at the other Musketeer.

"Whereas I," declared Aramis, standing, "would far prefer the sweet perfume and the touch of a silky-skinned young woman. I just happen to have one in mind so I, too, will take my leave in order to pay her a visit."

D'Artagnan sniggered and likewise stood.

Porthos looked up at them all, not without disappointment. "Are you all going to leave me? Won't you stay a little longer, d'Artagnan?"

"I would have loved to remain here with you, Porthos, but I need to return to my lodgings."

Aramis draped an arm about the young man's shoulders and grinned conspiratorially. "He has to get home because a certain Madame Bonacieux will be waiting for him and I have no doubt that the prospect of her marvellous company is far more enticing than being with you, brother," and he gave Porthos a dramatic wink.

D'Artagnan blushed fiercely which only served to increase Aramis' mischief as he planted a noisy kiss on the young man's brow.

"Don't you give us another moment's thought, d'Artagnan. You hurry home now to see your beloved."

"She is not my beloved," d'Artagnan blustered.

"Not yet anyway," Porthos quickly interrupted.

"Constance is a married woman," d'Artagnan reminded them, slowly and deliberately. "And it is Monsieur Bonacieux that I think of right now. He is not happy with the hours I have been keeping and that, my friends, is very much your fault. I am comfortable there, thank you, and I would like it to stay that way."

"He wants to stay near the delectable Constance," Aramis announced, taking the other two into his confidence, for even Athos raised an eyebrow at the notion.

"You are incorrigible," d'Artagnan scolded Aramis. "All of you," he added as he looked at them all.

Aramis gave a throaty laugh, one that always signalled his enthusiasm for fun and life. At that given moment, all was well in his Musketeer world. They had successfully completed another mission, apprehending and delivering the usual ne'er-do-wells to the Chatelet. There had been nothing challenging or taxing in the task, but it did free him from the confines of the infirmary where he had been tending sick comrades.

Illness that was rife in Paris had also hit the garrison community and many had succumbed, spending days in bed in the throes of a fever. As the most efficient medic within the company, it had fallen to him – with some assistance – to look after those who were ailing but, two days ago, he had at last been able to inform Captain Tréville that the worst of the epidemic was over. It had come as a major relief to all as manpower had been stretched to the limit with many soldiers being required to do double shifts, especially when it involved the protection detail for the royal couple.

Now, though, with the added relief that he and his brothers had escaped the contagion, he was also free from the smells and heat of the sickroom and he intended to benefit from it to the maximum.

"What about you, Porthos? What are your intentions?" he asked, brushing non-existent dirt from the front of his coat. He was always most particular about his appearance and even more so when he was out to woo and impress the fairer sex.

Porthos sighed heavily and surveyed the room, his expression lightening the moment he saw a card game about to commence at a nearby table.

"I am set, gentlemen; I spy my entertainment for the rest of the evenin'."

Aramis clapped him on the arm and adopted a warning tone. "Now play nicely with the other boys. Don't lose too much, don't cheat too much and don't take too much of their money."

Porthos slapped a hand against his chest and pouted in feigned offence. "As if I would!"

Athos leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "As if you would indeed! Remember, we are not here to watch your back, join you in whatever fracas you initiate, pay for the damage you cause and drag your miserable hide back to the garrison in the hope we can prevent the Captain from hearing of the trouble here this night. Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear!" Porthos grinned.

There was general laughter from the group as they bade each other a cheery goodnight, made plans for breaking their fast together the next morning and went their separate ways to pursue their own interests.

Yes, all was indeed well with their world as evidenced in their camaraderie and light-hearted banter.

They could not have known that events were about to conspire against them, that they would not be sitting as one at their usual table in the garrison yard the following morning and that doubts would soon emerge as to their ever being together again.


	2. Chapter 2

Afternoon, all. Thank you so much for the brilliant reception for the first chapter of Revenge yesterday. I had some strange experiences uploading it and gave it the wrong category etc. Then it said it had two chapters but there was only the one SO I am uploading chapter 2 today.

The last chapter came to you from Colorado Springs and today's comes to you from Denver. Where will I be for the next one? We'll have to wait and see.

Hope you enjoy this chapter too.

CHAPTER 2

Church bells were striking the late hour when Athos reached the archway that was the main entrance to the Musketeer garrison, and he nodded a greeting to the two men on duty as he passed between them. Almost immediately he was forced to flatten himself against the wall to avoid a rider leaving the yard at speed, more than the men were allowed to employ, given that they were exiting onto a busy Paris street. Fortunately, there were few pedestrians about their business in the area at this time of day and fewer soldiers wandering the yard.

He recognised the livery of the royal household though and frowned. The messenger could only be the bearer of bad tidings if he had been sent to the Musketeer Captain so late and was in such haste to return to the palace. Athos felt a chill grip his heart. Had something happened to the King? Was he ill? Or worse? Without an heir to assume the throne, Louis' unexpected demise would plunge the country into chaos and open the floodgates to those determined to seize power.

He could think of several immediately, beginning with the King's own mother, Marie de' Medici. On the assassination of her husband, Henri, in 1610, she had acted as regent on behalf of the young Louis but had grown somewhat reluctant to relinquish the control. Athos only knew details of her subsequent attempt to overthrow her son from Captain Tréville, who was imprisoned on her orders for his part in defending the young King. Fortunately, her coup had ultimately failed, and she had been banished. Thinking of his own bitter experience with strong-willed women, he thought that she would take advantage of any situation and make her bid for the throne again.

If it were not her, then it would be her younger son and brother to Louis, Gaston, Duke of Orléans. Athos had had occasion to meet him once but it – and the Duke - were seared into his memory and he could not help but hate the younger royal with every fibre of his being.

Then there would be the line of foreign powers sniffing about the troubled country. At the front of that queue, no doubt, would be the King of Spain, brother to France's queen.

He chastised himself for thinking the worst. Knowing Louis, it was probably something quite trivial that could have been deferred until the morning but, to the monarch, it was something of major import.

Once again, he was forced to revise his thinking as, moving towards the centre of the yard, he heard a door slam above him and to the right – the door that led to Tréville's office.

The Captain strode along the balcony, donning his gloves and calling as he went. "Jacques, saddle my horse."

As he started his descent of the stairs, he caught sight of Athos, standing still and looking up at him.

"Make that two horses!"

The stable lad appeared in the doorway of the stable, looked at the two men, nodded wildly and disappeared back inside to fulfil his task.

Galvanised into action and aware of his heart beating fast in anticipation, Athos moved quickly to join the Captain.

"What is wrong?" he asked, convinced now that the news was not good.

Tréville craned his neck to see into the shadows of the stable, his impatience tangible. "I am glad that you are here. Would you ride with me to the palace?"

Athos was momentarily surprised at Tréville's apparent relief upon seeing him and the fact that the Captain had made a request rather than giving a direct order.

"Of course I will accompany you." If ever Athos were to question any of Tréville's decisions, it was never to countermand but to understand them better and he did so now as his concern increased. "What is the urgency though?"

Tréville shook his head. "That is what I intend to find out. The King's messenger had no details to share; he just about had breath to say that the King demanded my presence immediately. I have absolutely no idea what this is about. He was in a fine mood for once when I left him earlier."

The two men fell into a silent reverie for they had both experienced first-hand the mercurial nature of the French monarch, especially if Cardinal Richelieu, France's First Minister, had monopolised the ear of the monarch. An idea must have occurred to the Captain as he turned to confront Athos.

"Be honest and succinct with me; I have neither the time nor inclination to listen to your circumlocution."

Athos drew in a deep breath and tried to suppress the hurt he felt at the accusation.

"Have you or any of the others done anything wrong? Upset the Red Guard? Got into a fight or duel with the Cardinal's men? Just tell me for it must be serious to be summoned at so late an hour. Usually, both King and Cardinal wait until the next day. I do not want to walk into a major complaint without being forewarned."

"I swear to you that we have done nothing. We have not encountered any of the Red Guard for days given our increased duties and Aramis tending the sick. Our first time being any distance from the garrison was arresting some thieves and this evening at The Wren has been pleasant and passed without incident. We did leave Porthos there but even he cannot get into trouble so quickly."

Tréville managed a wry smile but it did not reach his eyes. "I am sorry to accuse you, but you understand that I had to ask." Athos nodded. "It only worries me more that I remain none the wiser." He looked again towards the stable. "Where is Jacques with the horses?"

"I will go and help him," Athos offered, more to placate the anxious officer than anything else but he had only taken a step when the stable boy appeared, leading two mounts.

The Musketeers' cursory check of the saddle, reins and length of stirrups arose more from habit than anything else. As they swung up into their saddles with the ease of the proficient horsemen they were, Tréville nodded at the boy, thanked him for his efforts and apologised for disturbing his sleep when he had such an early start to his day.

Perplexed, Athos rode through the archway in the wake of his Captain, only to draw level with him once out on the street. He glanced surreptitiously at the other man and could not help but wonder if the Captain knew any more than he was revealing.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning, all. This chapter comes to you from Whistler, Canada via Seattle and Vancouver. I might be able to post one more but then I may be silent for just over a week, depending upon internet - or lack thereof.

So, what seems to be the trouble with Louis?

CHAPTER 3

The King was in his night robes and pacing the library, remonstrating loudly with Richelieu when Tréville and Athos were admitted.

"This cannot be happening, Armand! I will not stand for it."

"Of course not, Sire, and every effort will be taken to ascertain the veracity of this information," the Cardinal said, his silky measured tones intending to calm the excited monarch and failing. "I have no doubt that Tréville will have a suitable suggestion."

"Suggestion for what?" Tréville asked, crossing the room with Athos a pace behind in deference to his rank. "Your Majesty," and the two Musketeers bowed low.

"There you are, Tréville! Where have you been? What kept you? I could have been murdered in my bed for all any of your care!" Louis was close to tears and totally irrational in his fear.

"I followed hard on the heels of your messenger, Sire; the only delay being the saddling of our horses, I assure you. Please sit, Your Majesty, calm yourself and tell me what has happened. What is this about being murdered in your bed? Have intruders gained access to the Palace? Did you not call for my Musketeers or the Red Guard? There are plenty within the Louvre."

Louis allowed the Captain to guide him to a chair and ease him down upon it, protocol pushed to one side for Tréville was responsible for the King's safety and comfort and the situation would have been far worse if the monarch had been left to collapse upon the floor.

Louis buried his head in his hands and moaned. "Questions! Questions! All these questions! I am fortunate to be alive and all you can do is ask me many questions!"

Tréville's brow furrowed and he looked to Richelieu for some assistance, but the man stood impassively watching on.

"My apologies for distressing you further, Sire, but I need to know specific information. If any of my men have been remiss in their duty …."

All this elicited from Louis was another loud groan.

"Will Your Majesty partake of some brandy?" Desperately, Tréville surveyed the room and when he saw none, he turned to Athos. All that was needed was a raised eyebrow and the younger man turned on his heel and was gone, either in search of the spirit himself or else a servant who could fetch some.

Reassured that the King was not going to pass out and pitch forward from the chair, Tréville took two steps back to give the man space.

"Perhaps we could begin at the beginning?" he suggested, frowning at Richelieu who had not, up to this point, been of much help.

The Cardinal sighed as if he were about to bestow a huge favour upon Tréville.

"I received word earlier this evening of apparently mounting unrest amongst the nobility. Whilst it is primarily south of Paris, there is the suspicion of nobles joining from a wider area. This depth of feeling is being exacerbated and fuelled by a Vicomte Menier who hails from an area just south-west of Troyes," Richelieu explained.

At the same time, Athos returned, bearing a bottle and glass upon a tray himself. Setting it down on a table in one of the bay windows, he poured a generous measure and took it to the King.

"How dare he fuel anything. He does not have the right. Much of the land down there is crown land. I can and will rescind permission for him to hold an estate and add it to my own. He will be arrested and thrown into the Chatelet and everyone else involved in this wretched conspiracy," Louis complained, downing the brandy in one go and holding it out for a refill.

Silently, Athos moved to retrieve the bottle and replenished the King's glass; only Tréville noted what the Musketeer had done and nodded his own thanks at the deed.

"With all due respect, Sire," Richelieu began, "we need to have verification of the account and, if it is true, we need to learn the identity of all those who are prepared to participate in this treasonous act."

"How did you come by your information?" Tréville asked.

"One of my intelligencers based in the region and yes, before you ask your next question, the person has proved very reliable on other occasions."

"Has he?" Tréville pressed for he had noted the Cardinal's careful avoidance of revealing whether or not his informant had been male or female and the Musketeer Captain was still trying to discover the identity of the mystery woman who had contributed to the potentially catastrophic chain of events surrounding a Treaty with Spain.*

But Richelieu, ever alert, was not to be drawn and carefully constructed what he said next.

"I was also advised that there was to be a meeting of all like-minded nobles on the twentieth of this month at Menier's chateau in Rosières-près-Troyes, no doubt to plan the finer points of their nefarious scheme."

"The twentieth," Tréville repeated as he considered what he had been told so far. "That's ten days from now."

"How very observant of you."

Athos' head snapped round to glare at the Cardinal for the caustic comment directed at the Musketeer Captain but if Richelieu had seen the reaction, he chose to ignore it - as did Tréville.

"Two more things. Do we know the reason for such unrest or what they intend doing?"

"To kill me in my bed, of course," Louis whined. "Why do you think I sent for you so quickly, Captain."

"Is this so?" and he looked directly at the Cardinal.

"There is reason to believe that the plan is to launch an attack upon His Majesty's person," Richelieu went on.

"Where? When?" Tréville's mind was already working on ways to increase protection for the King.

"That is unknown as yet," Richelieu reluctantly admitted. "My informant has, unfortunately, their limitations but it would be beneficial if we had someone else who could, perhaps, be in a position to learn more."

"What do you mean?" Tréville demanded. Somehow, he did not think he was going to like the suggestion.

"Well," Richelieu began slowly, "this idea has only just come to mind and I have yet to think of the finer detail but it would be to our advantage if we placed a man there who claimed to be a disgruntled nobleman and who could discover the more vital information." As he finished speaking, Richelieu finally seemed to remember that Athos was in the library with them.

Fixing the Musketeer with a piercing stare, the Cardinal smiled, but it was without any mirth.


	4. Chapter 4

Greetings, all. As I write this, I am in Whistler for one more night. so am able to sneak in another chapter. Tomorrow, it is back to Vancouver and from there we sail up the Alaskan coast so I will definitely be 'gone' for a week. Thank you to all who have read and reponded to the story so far.

So, the evil Richelieu has plans for Athos, does he? What will happen next?

CHAPTER 4

"No," was Tréville's immediate reaction, his sharp blue eyes rapidly ranging from Richelieu to the King and finally to Athos to gauge his reaction. The young Musketeer stood there, silent as ever but Tréville had already recognised the flicker of interest on the soldier's face.

"You have not heard me out," Richelieu objected.

"I do not need to listen to any half-formed ideas; you admit that you have not thought it through," Tréville continue, fighting an awful sense of foreboding.

"Then heed me now. We must get a man to infiltrate this group of malcontents at their supposed meeting to garner valuable information and who better than your man? Look at him!" and here he gesticulated towards Athos with a deliberate, outstretched arm.

"Every part of him screams nobility. From the way he stands to the way he moves, the way he thinks, his voice and his education."

There was an exultant gleam in Richelieu's eyes, a hint of the manic and Tréville felt an instant chill and a mounting dread. Had the Cardinal been probing into Athos' past and discovered that he was, indeed, the Comte de la Fère, from one of France's most ancient and prestigious noble families? Was he going to use this new-found knowledge to best advantage? How long had he known and what had provoked the investigation into one of his own men?

The answers came to Tréville simultaneously. This all had to link back to the debacle surrounding the Spanish Ambassador and the Treaty. Richelieu would want to know everything he could about Tréville's business and that included his men, the élite guard formed for the protection of the royal household, particularly those favoured with advancement. Created mainly – but not solely – from the nobility, the Musketeers would inevitably arouse the Cardinal's interest, especially when compared with the largely disreputable rabble he employed as part of his own Red Guard, selected more for their brawn than their brains in most instances. Only the officer ranks seemed to have any degree of education and even they did not deign to demonstrate it very often.

Richelieu was still talking and had moved to circle Athos slowly; the Musketeer had snapped to attention, his eyes focused on a far distant point. It was, Tréville thought, an image of a carrion crow carefully inspecting a piece of dead meat before striking although in this instance, the morsel was most definitely living and breathing.

"Your man here will be perfect for the task."

"My 'man' has a name," Tréville spat out.

Richelieu waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever. Which one is he? Aramis or Porthos? Oh no," and he leaned in closer, but Athos did not flinch, "he's definitely not Porthos; he's not tall enough."

Athos' cheek muscles tightened, the only visible sign that he had taken offence to the Cardinal's slight against Porthos; he was not really making reference to the Musketeer's height but rather his mixed-race parentage.

Tréville was not so tolerant. "You know this is Athos, my Lieutenant," he ground out.

"Oh of course, my mistake," and Richelieu walked away to take up his former position near to Louis, who had been watching proceedings with a growing interest.

"Do you really think he could pass as a nobleman?" the King asked. ""I know you have sons of the nobility within your ranks, Captain. Would one of them not be better suited to the task?"

At least Louis remained oblivious to Athos' past. Tréville only knew a little of the young man's past and certainly not the reason for the demons that had haunted him enough to walk away from his ancestral home and title and, eventually, to seek refuge within the regiment. It was nearly five years since that time and Athos had made significant progress, trusting the Captain and his three brothers-in-arms like no-one else, but whatever tormented him surfaced periodically and still threatened to consume him. At least Tréville recognised the signs now and could monitor his protegé, either directly or through the friends and the strength of the bond between them.

Tréville looked to Athos, saw the brief, acquiescent nod of the head and answered the King with a sinking heart.

"There is no-one within my regiment better than Athos to fulfil this assignment, Sire, but I will not have him undertake this mission before we give it more serious thought."

"What is there to think about?" An edge of exasperation crept into Richelieu's tone. "It is quite simple. Your man …" He dipped his head in mock apology. "Athos … leaves Paris early tomorrow and rides for the estate near Troyes. We have to allow four days for that. Then that gives him six days to ingratiate himself with those involved and get himself into that meeting. As soon as he has done that, has identified the dissidents and learned of their plans, he can leave and ride back to Paris. Another four days. To my reckoning, that is fourteen days, two weeks in total."

"And if something were to go wrong? Men must accompany him for back-up," Tréville insisted.

"Absolutely not!" the Cardinal countered. "Even if they were disguised as servants, I hardly think it appropriate that a potential rebel would be riding round the countryside with a retinue just because he can't get his breeches on unaided." It was a scathing view of nobility but there was underlying truth where some individuals were concerned; fortunately, it did not apply to Athos.

"Then what about your agent? Can he not return to the area to make contact with Athos and provide support if needed? If anything were to happen, Athos would need another avenue to get the information back to Paris. Who better than your agent?" Tréville persisted.

Richelieu would not comply. "There will be no such need. I do not want my agent to become embroiled in something that might reveal their true identity. We have worked long and hard to secure that this agent has access in some very sensitive situations, and I would not have that effort undone because a Musketeer cannot do what is asked of him!"

There was that avoidance again that convinced Tréville the agent concerned must be the mystery woman encountered before. Who was she and why was the Cardinal insistent upon maintaining her anonymity?

The insult to the soldier rankled with Tréville. "Athos is my lieutenant and one of my best men. He will be committed to this mission and will not take any unnecessary risks; he knows only too well the importance of the information he seeks."

"Then we are agreed," Richelieu said brusquely. "Your man leaves as quickly as possible and he goes alone."


	5. Chapter 5

Greetings, all, from Anchorage via the Inside Passage, Ketchekan, Juneau, Skagway, Glacier Bay and Seward. Wow, what an adventure and what sights! Thank you for the feedback on the last chapter.

So, Athos is going to go off on his own, is he? I don't think the Captain is a happy man ...! Apologies for any errors that may have crept in!

CHAPTER 5

"I think the Cardinal knows your true identity," Tréville said quietly as they reached the sanctuary of his office. Athos was closing the door even as the Captain was pouring them both a glass of his brandy. He signalled for Athos to pull up a chair to the desk and sit.

"I believe so too, although I cannot think how or why he has come by that information," Athos replied.

They both settled into their seats and had taken several sips of the strong alcohol before either of them spoke again.

"I am not in favour of this mission," Tréville began, "especially when it comes from the Cardinal's insistence."

"But we have both sworn to protect His Majesty," Athos added calmly, "and in unearthing the details and names of those plotting against him, I would be doing just that."

Tréville leaned forward to refill Athos' glass.

"This must be the last," the younger man insisted," if I am to travel with a clear head." His mouth twitched in amusement. "Besides, I have a major challenge ahead of me – to uncover the information that has so far escaped the Cardinal's agent."

The Captain gave a snort of pleasure. "Oh how I would love to be there when you present it to him."

Athos shook his head. "It is more politic if I furnish you with the relevant information and you are the one to hand it over. All I ask is that I be allowed to stand beside you when you do so."

"It goes without saying when the hard work has been yours. Anything to wipe that smirk off Richelieu's face and throw back at him his comment about the inadequacies of any Musketeer."

"My task is not without pressure then; the honour of the regiment is at stake." Athos took another sip of the brandy and appreciated the warmth of the strong liquid as it slipped down the back of his throat. The Captain had a fine taste in his preferred spirit.

"I'll drink to that … and your success," and they both raised their glasses in a salute to Athos' task.

Tréville grew serious. "I do not like the idea of you going completely alone though. You will be four days' ride away without any means of procuring help should you need it."

"I have been on longer journeys than that," Athos reminded him.

"But you have not been alone," Tréville repeated, "and on the rare occasions that you have, it has been a simple delivery of a message. This is far different from that. If they were to find out that you were a musketeer and what the real reason for your being there was …."

His voice trailed off for neither needed any more explanation. Discovery that Athos was, in fact, a spy for the King would mean certain death as the perpetrators of whatever the plot was would not want details of the same falling into their target's hands.

"Then I had better make sure that I am not caught."

"You make it sound so simple," Tréville said quietly.

"There is much that can go wrong," Athos admitted.

The Captain slapped the flat of his hand down on the desktop, his frustration evident. "The whole thing is fraught with danger. We need to thrash out as many details now as we can. Who will you be? I take it that you are not going to march in there as the Comte de la Fére?"

"Definitely not," Athos was adamant. "Who was the Comte is dead to all, missing at the very least. I need to ascertain what the specific grief is of this group. If they consider themselves maligned, overtaxed or misunderstood members of the ruling classes, they will not take kindly to one of their own trying to join forces with them if he has made the deliberate choice to walk away from everything they are desperate to defend. That, I fear, would increase my risk."

"Then what do you propose?"

Athos thought for a moment. "I could be a disgruntled younger son whose ailing father cannot see the faults of his dissolute eldest who will soon run the estate into the ground. He may well be destined for a mysterious and premature end so that I will present myself as the more reliable heir, seeing eye to eye with my father's wishes and who will stop at nothing to protect my inheritance against the unreasonable whims of a distant monarch."

Tréville smiled. "Anyone would think that you have had much time to concoct your story."

Athos shrugged. "It is not without its flaws, but I will have four days in the saddle to refine my history and motive."

"Where will your estate be?"

The younger man thought for a moment. "If I am heading south, it is likely that many – not all- of the nobles will be from that direction so I will select somewhere north-west of Paris, the further north the better. I cannot discount the possibility that someone who knew my father might be involved."

"What about the time when you became Comte? Would there be anyone who would recognise you from that time?"

Athos hesitated before answering and Tréville realised he was probing into an area they had never discussed before.

"I need to know all you can or are prepared to tell me, Athos. You understand that I would not ask otherwise but I want to ascertain all possible risks to you before you leave here. There is little I could do practically at this distance but …." He did not know how to finish.

Green eyes met his, weighing up how much to divulge and fighting that need to demonstrate unquestioning loyalty and trust. Tréville held his breath and waited, seeing every second of the inner turmoil in the other man.

Eventually Athos answered. "My father presented me at court some time before he died. I must have made a poor impression as a youth and was apparently very easy to forget for the King himself has not identified me. Then, when I became Comte, I did not return to court for there was so much to do to improve the estate and conditions for my tenants, not that my father had ever been neglectful; do not misunderstand me. After that, I travelled to assess his trade agreements and it was during that time that …"

He shook his head and Tréville knew that he was not going to hear much else of Athos' tale.

"I returned to the chateau until events meant that I could no longer remain there, so I came to Paris." He gazed intently at Tréville. "The rest you know."


	6. Chapter 6

Dear all.

Greetings this time from a somewhat chilly Denali but the sights are worth it.

Thanks to all who read the last chapter. Things are definitely building as Athos prepares to leave but will it really be alone? Still not managing to get chapters down to 1000 words yet. What are your thoughts on this shorter format? It is just an experiment in this story.

CHAPTER 6

"But is anyone likely to recognise you?" Tréville pressed.

Athos recovered himself, drew himself up on his chair and resumed an air of practicality.

"There will always be that possibility, but I face that risk any time nobles come to court for a function or to petition the King."

"There is not the same element of danger though," the Captain reminded him.

"Then my story needs to be a good one if I am thought to resemble the missing Comte de la Fère," he reiterated, "for that is all it can be - a passing resemblance. Who was the Comte no longer exists."

Underlying his vehement declaration, there was a note of sadness that Tréville detected and, not for the first time, he wondered at the past tragedy in this young man's life that had so profoundly affected – yes, and damaged – him.

"You will need clothing suitable for a man of your station." The Captain deftly changed the subject.

"That is easily remedied," Athos continued. "I still have some old clothes in the bottom of the chest in my room; old in that they are from my past life, but they will be suitable for this. I do not know why I kept them; I have not even looked at them in these recent years. They are wrapped so they should have survived the moth and other insects. They will no longer be the height of fashion, but they will suffice. Perhaps, as the younger, downtrodden son, adequate funds have been denied me and I find myself unable to match the profligate activities of my older sibling."

His expression became distant again and Tréville suspected that his words had sparked some sort of memory once more.

The Captain's voice softened. "Athos, if this is going to be too difficult, too painful for you, then we must halt it now."

Instantly alert, Athos focused upon the officer. "No. The King's safety is paramount. If I have the means to guarantee that, then there is no question about my going. You told the King that there was no-one more suited to this task than me and you are right. I stand a better chance than most at succeeding in this task."

"And you have the better skills with a sword to defend yourself," Tréville added.

All of his Musketeers were more than proficient with their weapons, but Athos was, undoubtedly, the best swordsman in the regiment and probably the best Tréville had set eyes upon in many a long year. If he were to be disarmed or outnumbered though ….

It did not bear thinking about and Tréville made a rapid decision.

"I will not have you go without the support of the others. Let me send for them, wake them up and explain what you are about. Richelieu need not learn that they have accompanied you if we do not tell him."

"No," Athos insisted. "I am more likely to succeed if alone. How could I explain their presence? Richelieu stated, and I agree, that someone in my position would not travel with a retinue; it would not be appropriate to the story I am creating. They could hardly secrete themselves amongst any villagers on the estate so the closest they could be would be within Troyes itself. The likelihood of my being able to send word to them for aid would be slim to non-existent."

"But you could pre-arrange a contact and, heaven forbid, should you miss that meeting, they would know you were in trouble and needed help," Tréville argued.

Athos' mouth set in a grim line. "No. Besides, I doubt that any of them are here right now. Porthos had settled into a card game, Aramis had set off for the arms of a lover - and don't ask me who she is as I could not tell you even if I wanted to – and d'Artagnan returned to his lodgings. I will be gone at dawn, before they arrive for the day's muster so do not think to delay me. That meeting is in ten days. I have to get there, make contacts and from there devise some reason as to how I discovered they were holding the gathering in the first place if I am to be accepted. I do not want to arouse suspicion before I have achieved anything."

Tréville sighed and realised yet again why he had made this young man his second in command; the strategic planning and ability to rapidly think through all the issues surrounding something were natural to him and invaluable.

"Return to your quarters and get your clothes. I will stir Serge to put together supplies for the first part of your journey at least and prepare something for you to eat before you depart. Then I'll go to the stable and have the boy ready your horse for dawn. I will meet you here when we have done."

"There is one more thing I would ask of you," Athos began, "and it will not be easy. You must swear Serge and Jaques to secrecy for as long as possible regarding my leaving, and that applies to you too, Captain. As soon as they realise that I am not around, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan will inevitably start to worry, thinking that I did not get back safely from The Wren so they will ask questions, and keep on asking until they get some satisfactory reassurance. You will have to prepare to tell them something to distract them for as long as possible for I do not want them setting off to follow me."

"You're right; that is not going to be simple and you will not be the one who has to face their wrath when they learn that you will not be back for at least two weeks."

Athos gave a wry smile, "It seems that I might have the less dangerous mission after all. I wish you well, Captain."

Tréville harrumphed his displeasure at the notion. "Right, we will do what we need to do and meet back here. There are still some issues I want to discuss with you, such as agreed codes. If, for any reason, you have to send word back here by some unknown messenger, I want to be able to immediately validate the message as coming from you. I know your script well enough but you might only have time to send something verbally."

"And I will not have this to prove it is me," Athos said, unbuckling his pauldron and laying it on the desk between them. "I will not have need of it where I am going and ask that you would keep it safe for me."


	7. Chapter 7

Greetings and thanks for reviews and answers to my question. I am finding the shorter format really hard, I must confess.

We left Denali this morning as the hotel shut its doors for winter along with many surrounding businesses. The mountains had had a good 'dusting' of snow three nights ago whilst the first snows at lower levels have been forecast for two days' time so we are back in Anchorage until Saturday.

So, in this chapter, Treville is given a hard time from an unexpected quarter.

CHAPTER 7

Tréville had first disturbed Serge to make his requests, apologetic for dragging the old man from his sleep when he would be rousing in a few hours anyway to start preparations for the day's meals for the vast majority of the men. He told the former soldier enough regarding the need for supplies and food for Athos to break his fast but when he added the instruction regarding the secrecy from the other _Inseparables, _Serge tut-tutted loudly and rolled his eyes.

"You'll be wantin' me to lie then," he said, his displeasure plain.

"Well, I suppose when you put it like that," Tréville answered, "I suppose I do. But it is for a good cause," he added hurriedly.

"Pardon me for reservin' judgement on this supposed 'good cause'. I'd like to know more but I can tell by your face that you're not goin' to tell me an' I suppose I should be thankful. At least it means I won't 'ave to tell those boys any more lies than necessary. I don't know what kind of 'good cause' it is that makes a man ride off in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye or a word to 'is friends as to where 'e's goin', why an' for how long.

"I don't like it; I'm tellin' you that now. Don't like it at all an' if that boy's ridin' off on 'is own with 'is 'ead filled with some notion of bein' a hero, I definitely don't like it an' you should be stoppin' him from goin'." Serge eyed the officer suspiciously. "But then I get the feelin' e's doin' this with your blessin' an' on your orders."

Chagrined and feeling like the raw recruit he had once been when he first met Serge years before, Tréville could say nothing but silently withstood the angry cook's tirade for there was nothing but truth in the old man's words.

"I don't like it any more than you do, Serge. That I can assure you, but it is necessary. It wouldn't be happening otherwise. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan are naturally going to be furious, even upset at the way this has been done but I have to know that you will support me in this. If not for my sake, then for Athos for this is his wish that we keep the others in ignorance for as long as possible."

Serge sniffed. "I'll do it, but only because 'e's asked for it, mind."

Tréville smiled. "Then for that I am thankful. Just bring everything to my office when you're ready and please don't involve the kitchen boy."

He had reached the door when Serge spoke again.

"This mission. Dangerous is it?"

Tréville hesitated as he considered how best to answer the old man. "Most missions have potential for danger, Serge; you know that."

"But 'e'll be on 'is own!"

"Yes," the Captain reluctantly agreed, wondering what else the cook could want from him.

"If our boy gets hurt, who'll be there to bring 'im 'ome?"

"Someone will, Serge. I promise you. If not me, then it'll be his brothers."

Suddenly, Serge fixed him with such a stare that he saw a return of a fire in the old soldier that he had not seen for a long time.

"I'll hold you to that promise, Captain." Gone was the familiarity of years of camaraderie. "If our boy doesn't come back or if the worst 'appens …" He left his threat unfinished.

It was not until he was outside in the cool night air that Tréville slumped against the wall to steady his own ragged breathing and the tremor in his hands. Many was the time that he had heard the mature, experienced soldiers speak before a battle, knowing that they or their friends were going into their last fight. They talked of omens and gut feelings and, more often than not, they were proved correct. Serge had turned so abruptly and become so vitriolic, that he could not help but wonder if the former soldier were sensing the same misgivings he had.

Bowing his head, he muttered a quick prayer to the Almighty that he and Serge were both wrong.

Recovering his composure, he pushed away from the wall and hurried to the Infirmary where he brushed aside the offer of help from the Musketeer on duty through the night hours to minister to the handful of sick soldiers who remained there. He made some excuse about looking for a potion to deal with a headache and was relieved that, in the first instance, he did not have to lie. Pain throbbed behind his left eye; it had started as he and Athos had left the palace and intensified as the plans developed. Alone in the store-room, he filled his pockets with bandages and a variety of potions to induce sleep and relieve pain and fever.

He inquired after the health of his men – all of whom were on the road to recovery – and bid goodnight to the Musketeer sitting with them. Back out into the darkness, he crossed to the stable and shook the boy awake. Jacques groaned for he had not long fallen sleep after the return of the Captain and Athos from the palace. He had had to unsaddle the horses, settle them in their stalls and give them food and water. Now the Captain was here requiring his services for a third time.

Tréville hoped that the boy had come to his senses enough to grasp that Athos' horse had to be re-saddled and waiting for him just before dawn at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Captain's office. It was when he pressed home the instruction that Jacques was to remain quiet about the sudden departure that he knew the boy would not be able to maintain his silence for long if Porthos were the one asking the questions. It had long been obvious that the stable boy hero-worshipped him and was also a little in awe of him so he would be quick to please the big Musketeer.

Tasks fulfilled, Tréville went back to his office and waited for Athos, who was taking an inordinate amount of time just changing his clothes. The reason for his delay was obvious when he eventually walked in without knocking and laid four sealed messages on the desk before the Captain.

"Please keep those with my pauldron," he requested. "They are only to be read if I do not return."

Tréville opened the drawer and picked them up to place them beside the pauldron he had already stowed there. As he expected, three were addressed to his brothers; he had taken his time to pen them a last letter in his tidy hand.

The fourth was addressed to Tréville.


	8. Chapter 8

Greetings. I am back from the Alaska adventure. In Denver last night and Colorado Springs right now. We have a few days' respite (and the need to do some laundry) and then we hit the road again so updates might be erratic once more.

Thank you to all the readers and those leaving reviews.

It is time for Athos to leave ...

CHAPTER 8

"Those letters will not be necessary, you know," Tréville said, hoping that he sounded more convincing than he felt.

"Just as well," Athos quipped. "I didn't have the time to write more. You can hand them back to me with the pauldron when I ride into the yard."

"I'll hold you to that." Tréville cleared his throat. "Now to business; we need to clarify as much as we can."

And so the men talked, pausing only when Serge brought in a sack of provisions for the road and a tray of food to be eaten before departure. The old man said nothing but paused long enough to lay a gnarled hand on Athos' shoulder and squeeze it gently.

"What did you tell him?" Athos asked once the door had closed, leaving them alone again.

"The bare minimum. Another reason you'd better make sure you come back unscathed; I am convinced that he will make my life hell if you don't."

Athos looked surprised. "Really?"

"Really. There'll be him to begin with and then I can add Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan into the mix, for they will all be after my blood when they realise what you've done. Then finish with the King and the Cardinal, who will want more than my blood if you do not furnish them with the information they need." The Captain sighed. "I will have to leave France, let alone Paris."

They finalised what they could, which turned out to be very little, and then continued talking about inconsequential matters until Athos stifled a yawn.

"You ought to get some rest; it is very late and you have four long days in the saddle ahead of you," Tréville advised.

"I will not sleep; my mind is too active. Besides, it will be harder to slip away if one of the others decides to visit me. It won't be d'Artagnan but if Aramis' lady love has a husband who makes an unexpected return, he may well come to share his woes with me. Failing that, Porthos might decide to tell me of his winnings or losses."

"Then stay here if you need to hide," and Tréville nodded towards his own bed in the corner. "Try and sleep a little. I will wake you before dawn."

"But you will need rest."

Tréville raised a hand to halt the objection. "I will have time enough. Besides, there is some pressing paperwork that I would prefer to deal with; I might feel that I have achieved something when daylight breaks."

He was not about to confess that he had so many misgivings regarding this new assignment that his troubled mind would not allow him any repose. His attention focused on the documents before him and he picked up his quill, his actions indicating that all discussion was at an end. He was aware of Athos moving to sit on the side of the bed where he removed his boots and then there was no sound except for the scratching of the pen nib on the paper.

Despite Athos' declaration that he would not sleep, his soft, rhymical breathing soon announced that he was no longer awake and Tréville allowed himself a slight smile. A soldier's battle experience dictated that he often trained himself to snatch sleep where and when he could, no matter the level of discomfort or the short duration. He knew, from his own observations in the field and from occasional comments made by the other _Inseparables,_ that Athos was a notoriously bad sleeper when he had not imbibed alcohol. His slumber was light so that the slightest noise brought him to immediate wakefulness, instincts heightened and, invariably, a weapon in his hand

There were other times when the soldier would sit, eyes mere slits with exhaustion, but refusing to give in to the pull of sleep for fear of returning night horrors if he had not already endeavoured to suppress them with an excess of drink. If desperate, he did not care whether it was from grape or grain, although his preference was for the former. Tréville frequently wished that he knew more of the young man's past and could therefore understand and perhaps even help subdue the demons that persisted in tormenting him.

And it was because of those very same demons that Tréville had his reservations in allowing Athos to head south alone. He would be adopting an identity and role too close to that which he had deliberately abandoned; he would be re-entering that same world of privilege and there was no denying the risk that someone from his past would recognise him. Another thought struck Tréville that he dared not voice. There had to be periods of happiness in Athos' earlier years, friends amongst the nobility with whom he had grown up. Suppose that person who was able to name Olivier d'Athos de la Fère was a childhood playmate now turned traitor? Whilst Tréville had no doubts as to where Athos' loyalties lay, he was reluctant to expose the younger man to any more turmoil than was absolutely necessary and he wondered what the final effect of this mission might be; he prayed it would not be long-lasting.

He spent time writing his duty log for the day and compiling a report on what he knew about the new assignment and an even longer list of his doubts, concerns and the things he wanted to know.

Eventually, as night was at odds with the dawn, he rose, silently crossed the room and looked down upon the sleeping musketeer. Athos was at his most trusting and most vulnerable, his weapons belt discarded upon the floor by the desk hours earlier and definitely out of reach. Stretched out upon his back, head turned towards the Captain, he was unguarded, and his features totally relaxed, giving him the appearance of being even younger than his years. He was two months shy of his thirtieth birthday.

"Athos," Tréville said softly, not wanting to startle the soldier awake. He was just about to reach out with a tentative hand when the green eyes snapped open and gazed up at him, fully aware.

"I've always wanted to wake up like that," Tréville joked, heading back to his desk to uncover the food Serge had provided to break the fast.

When Athos joined him, they ate together, revisiting some of the points of their earlier planning. When they heard horse's hooves in the yard below, they knew Jacques was bringing Athos' mount, saddled and ready.

The sky was showing the first strands of light as the pair descended the stairs as quietly as they could. Athos paused by the water trough to splash water on his face and Tréville watched, still finding it strange to see the former Comte out of his uniform and wearing a cream linen shirt, richly embroidered in a similar coloured thread around the neck and frilled cuffs. He had polished his boots as best he could, but the well-worn footwear conflicted with the dark, wine-coloured breeches and ornately quilted doublet. He fastened the food sack and a black cloak to the back of his saddle before turning to the Captain.

"I wish you well in keeping the others at bay for as long as possible," he said, extending his hand in farewell.

Tréville snorted and clasped the hand tightly in both of his, as if he could impart some protection through his touch. "You just look after yourself and don't take any foolish risks," he instructed.

Athos withdrew his hand and swung up into the saddle. Gathering the reins in one hand, he touched his hat brim with the other in a brief salute as the corners of his mouth twitched.

"I will see you in fourteen days."

Spurring his horse on, he rode out through the archway and was gone.

Dammit, thought Tréville as he strode towards the two musketeers on guard duty at the entrance. Two more to be sworn into the secrecy surrounding this ever-growing farce!


	9. Chapter 9

Good morning from Colorado Springs. The morning mist is burning off and I can once more see the mountains so I am happy!

Thank you to the readers and reviewers of the last chapter.

Chapter 9 already. Athos has gone and the time fast approaches when Treville is going to have to face the Inseparables - but not this chapter. He has to deal first with a much put-upon Louis who just can't understand why not every one loves him!

CHAPTER 9

Tréville avoided leaving the sanctuary of his office until muster and, as he descended the stairs for the second time in less than two hours, he saw the three remaining _Inseparables _at their usual table in the yard. They shuffled into a line with other Musketeers and he saw the moment when they started looking around for their fourth, questions whispered between them.

He determined not to look at them as he assigned the day's duties, sending them along with others to the Palace for several hours of being on guard. There was nothing unusual in that, but he sensed their curiosity in his failing to mention Athos by name. At least it signalled to them that he was not oblivious to the Musketeer's absence from the muster and might allay their fears for a few hours.

As the men were dismissed, he quickly went up to his office, pretending that he did not hear Aramis call after him and deliberately slamming his door in the hope that it would deter them from following to bombard him with questions. They were already on duty at the Palace when he arrived but, given the sensitive nature of Athos' assignment, his meeting with the King and First Minister to report upon what had been arranged was held aside in the library, no-one else in attendance.

Louis was only marginally calmer in the cold light of day and the knowledge that the Musketeer had already left on his ride south to infiltrate the plotters to learn what he could of the plot against the King. As Tréville and Richelieu discussed combining manpower to increase Palace security with immediate effect, Louis sat slumped in a chair, bemoaning the situation.

"How can someone hate me so much? What have I done that my nobles would conspire against me?"

Tréville and Richelieu exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised. Where did they begin to remind him of the grievances aired with alarming regularity by the aristocracy and the peasant class?

"Am I to die like my father, stabbed by a religious fanatic?" Louis looked up at them through tear-filled eyes. He had not long celebrated his ninth birthday when the lucky blade of a Catholic malcontent finally succeeded where many previous assassination attempts had failed.

"There is nothing at present to suggest that this stems from religious extremism, Sire," Richelieu said gently with Tréville nodding his agreement. They both knew that Louis would require careful handling through this troubling time, and they would be stronger working together for the greater good of the monarch and country.

"Those wretched Huguenots! If they dare to raise their heads again, I will have them hunted down and executed," Louis declared, his fist banging down on the carved arm of his chair.

"That would not be practical, Sire," Richelieu advised. He was sure Louis was not really advocating mass extermination of a religious group; enough had died because of it in the past and he delicately sought to remind the King of that. "We have no reason to believe that they are behind this. It would be a foolish notion on their part after your victory at La Rochelle."

"All the more likely for them to do this," Louis insisted, his voice cracking with emotion. "Nearly two years have passed; I would not put it past them to have bided their time, plotting secretly amongst themselves."

"But our information speaks of nobles; there are not many of them who openly follow Protestantism, your Majesty." Tréville joined in the reasoned debate.

"You think they are Catholics?" Louis' expression was a mixture of indignation and mounting terror. "But why would they do it? I have been a strong advocate of Rome's Church; they cannot find fault with me."

It was another veiled reference to his father who had been baptised a Catholic yet raised a Protestant by his mother. As a Huguenot himself, Henri had been heavily involved in the French wars of religion, leading Protestant forces against the royal army. As "first prince of the blood" and Head of the House of Bourbon, he succeeded his distant cousin and brother-in-law, Henri III.

Henri's desire to rule France as a Protestant ended after four years when he decided that it was more prudent to resign his Calvanist faith and convert to Catholicism, but it undoubtedly influenced his religious tolerance towards Protestants that culminated in the Edict of Nantes and the end of conflict. That same leniency would lead to his downfall though for some Catholics would not accept him and other Protestants denounced him as a traitor, acting against the man who was their King and who had sought to maintain peace between the warring factions.

Louis had faced his own problems with the Huguenots, not least over three of the past five years and he viewed them with a deep-seated suspicion; it would not take much for him to convince himself that they were behind the possible insurrection.

"Your man," Louis began, rounding on Tréville.

"Athos, Sire," the Captain reminded him. If his Musketeer were taking all these risks, then the least Tréville could do was ensure that both King and Cardinal referred to him by name.

"This Athos. What is his faith? I will not have just anyone in my service. If he is a Huguenot, he will side with the plotters. How can we trust the information that he brings back to us? It will be lies, all lies."

It was not unknown for Louis, when extremely upset, to clutch onto one small idea and make fantastic leaps of association.

"Athos is definitely not a Protestant, of that I can assure Your Majesty," Tréville insisted, "and I know he was raised a Catholic." The Captain sent a rapid, silent plea Heavenward that Louis would not press him further for he did not know how to give an honest answer regarding Athos' current spiritual state.

Richelieu arched an eyebrow; the soldier's evasion had not gone unnoticed but at least Louis seemed satisfied.

"Thank goodness I have loyal men surrounding me," he sniffed. "My heroic Musketeer will infiltrate the enemy and return with everything we need to know. He is a true son of France."

Tréville released the breath he had not realised that he was holding. How quickly the King's mood changed! Mere seconds before, Louis was ready to brand Athos a heretic and now he looked upon Athos as the saviour of all ills, irrespective of the danger the man would face. Whilst every Musketeer swore an oath of loyalty to serve and protect the King and France, knowing that they would lay down their lives without question, Tréville did not support the idea of reckless sacrifice and he swiftly prayed again, not just for Athos' success but that the man would come home to the garrison and his friends without harm.


	10. Chapter 10

Greetings from Salina, Kansas. It's been a grey old day but good for driving - or being a passenger, as in my case. About 400 miles today - same tomorrow. Very different scenery from what we've had so far.

So, just how long can Treville keep the others at bay? Here, Serge refuses to give up!

CHAPTER 10

When Tréville arrived back at the garrison, he knew that he would have a few hours' respite before the _Inseparables _were relieved of duty and would be back, wanting to know the whereabouts of their brother.

"I am busy and not to be disturbed until later today," he instructed Serge when he entered the kitchen. The old soldier was cutting carrots in preparation of a light meal for those who were spending the morning training, the exercise guaranteed to make the men hungry and he gave the Captain a withering glare as the officer picked up one of the raw vegetables and bit into it. It crunched noisily.

"What you're meanin' is that you're hidin' away in that office of yours so that those boys don't come pesterin' you with their questions until you're good an' ready to face them."

Tréville slammed the remainder of the carrot down on the table-top, his blue eyes flashing with barely suppressed anger.

"Do not presume upon our years of friendship to overstep the boundaries. I am not at liberty to tell you anything more, nor should I, as Captain of the King's Musketeers, have to explain myself to a cook! Do not push me."

He stormed from the room, leaving a wide-eyed kitchen boy, trembling at the unexpected outburst and Serge, who gave a disgruntled harrumph.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it, Jean-Armand?" he muttered at the closed door.

Indeed it did, and the furious Captain had not reached the balcony that led to his office before he came to an abrupt halt, his head bowed in self-recrimination.

Serge was right; of course he was. Tréville was deliberately avoiding the _Inseparables. _Was he being a coward? He had never thought such an accusation could be levelled at him. He had issued an order and, as Captain, any order from him had to be obeyed. Had he not had to obey a direct order given to him by His King on the advice of the country's First Minister?

In fact, had there actually been any direct orders or had the mission somehow evolved from suggestion, discussion and Athos' agreement? Tréville chastised himself for even attempting to divert responsibility.

No, he was far from being a coward. He could argue with himself that he was fulfilling Athos' request in delaying the friends and there was truth in that; he could justify his prolonged silence because it benefitted the assignment, but the real reason was a reluctance to be confronted by the wrath of the friends. Some of it would, quite rightly, be directed at him for allowing Athos to go on his own but most of their anger, borne of worry, would be reserved for Athos himself when they next saw him.

He was momentarily relieved that his first thought had not been _if _they saw him … and that allowed the emergence of his underlying fears. Such was the bond between the four that he dreaded their reaction if they lost one of their brothers. Their work meant that they were often at risk, but it was one thing to fall in the heat of battle and quite another to die alone and far from home.

Tréville shuddered at his pessimism. What was it about this mission that had filled him with dread from its inception? Why was this so different from every other mission on which he sent Musketeers?

He huffed in exasperation. He could think of many reasons but right now, he had to make an apology to a man he had known for years and whom he greatly respected.

As he reopened the kitchen door, Serge looked at the kitchen boy and instructed him to 'make himself scarce for a while'.

They both waited until the boy had disappeared from the room.

"I am sorry, Serge, about the way I spoke to you. It was uncalled for."

"You're right, it was," the cook retorted, "but then I shouldn't have gone on at you the way I did; an' for that, I'm sorry too. I've known you long enough now to understand that you don't send someone out on somethin' like this lightly. Lookin' at you, I reckon you've got your own bad feelin's about this mission."

Tréville sighed and ran a hand through his greying hair. He swore that this job and the men who served him were ageing him prematurely.

"I will be honest with you, Serge. I am uneasy for many reasons. I don't like the thought of Athos being on his own so far from us and there is much than can go wrong. He had valid reasons to stop the others from following him; I respect those reasons and also see the sense in them."

"'E's gone to be a spy then," Serge said abruptly.

Tréville chuckled. "Do you really expect me to answer that?"

Serge snorted; it was his version of a full-throated laugh. "I'll take that as a 'yes' then."

The Captain's humour faded. "You see now why I have to stall the others for as long as possible?"

Serge nodded.

"I don't like doing it to them," Tréville continued, "but I can see no alternative. Athos has the full support of the King and Richelieu in this enterprise and, believe me, he is the best man for the job."

"No doubt 'e is," Serge said, his face serious, "an' you've spent a lot of time and effort on that boy. Let's 'ope you'll not be 'avin' to find yourself a replacement lieutenant any time soon. It took you long enough to promote 'im."

Tréville did not need the salutary reminder. He could have made Athos his second-in-command nearly three years before but the problems of Athos' past and how he chose to deal with them had made the Captain hesitate. He had no doubts that the young man was suitable officer material and already harboured the hopes that the former Comte would eventually step up to succeed him in commanding the regiment, but Athos had to believe in himself and it was far from easy to convince him of his worth.

Treville was still bothered about his altercation with the cook.

"Are we …" and he paused. "Are we settled about earlier?" and he extended a hand.

"Course we are," Serge grinned and took the outstretched hand in a firm grip. "Now sit yourself down an' I'll get you somethin' to eat. That way you can hide out for as long as you can without fear of starvin'."


	11. Chapter 11

Good evening from Branson, Missouri, and what a beautiful, hot day it has been. Thank you to all the reviews and readers for chapter 10.

Here it is then - or at least the start of it.

As much as he would like, Treville cannot avoid the moment any longer ... The boys are back!

CHAPTER 11

Tréville was genuinely absorbed in paperwork when his concentration was broken by the sound of many booted feet on the wooden stairs leading to the balcony that ran outside his office. Turning his head to see the angle of the sun through the window, he judged it to be late afternoon and breathed a soft sigh. He was fortunate to have been granted as much time as he had. The early duty at the Palace had concluded some time ago, which meant that the _Inseparables _had been conducting a search for their fourth and now, probably having exhausted a number of possibilities, they were coming to find out what, if anything, he knew.

They were not going to be happy. He could be certain of that!

The boots halted outside his door and he awaited their knock for its volume and duration would give him some indication of their pervading mood.

Silence.

He knew they were there for the footsteps had approached and not receded again; nor could they have walked past for the balcony did not lead anywhere else.

He waited for there was not even any shuffling or whispering What game were they playing now?

Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and he crossed to the door, throwing it open. If he had hoped to catch them off guard, he failed miserably.

Porthos and Aramis were lounging against the balustrade as if they did not have a care in the world. It was only d'Artagnan, the would-be Musketeer, who snapped to attention as Tréville appeared, obviously not wanting to disadvantage his chances of joining the ranks of the élite regiment. He was not yet confident enough to engage in pushing the limits of insubordination as often displayed by the other _Inseparables _but if he remained in their company – and it seemed that they had, surprisingly, adopted the Gascon – it would not be too long before he learned their habits, the good and the bad.

"I told you it would work," Aramis said lightly, but his tone was at odds with his serious expression.

"What would work?" Tréville asked, stepping back hastily as the trio, led by Porthos, filed past him, unbidden, into the inner sanctuary that was his.

They stood before his desk and waited for him to resume his seat before answering.

"We thought you might be avoidin' us," Porthos scowled. "If we knocked on the door, you'd say you were busy an' tell us to come back later. Serge already told us plenty of times that you weren't to be disturbed by anyone but we got the feelin' that you meant us especially."

"So we didn't disturb you," continued Aramis, his manner still deceptively light and, not for the first time, Tréville saw and understood why these men were so effective in their tasks. Effective and dangerous. Not that he believed himself to be under any threat, but he recognised one of their many instinctive tactics. Big men physically, their sheer presence and demeanour in any small space could be intimidating and that was disregarding the impressive array of weapons they carried.

Suddenly, Tréville's room felt very small.

"We knew you were in here and that you could not stay in here for ever, so we decided to wait for you to come out," Aramis continued.

"And out you came," Porthos' grin was bordering on the feral.

"And here we are," Aramis added, spreading his arms to indicate the four of them within the walls.

"But somethin's missin'," Porthos growled.

Aramis turned to him, mildly put out. "_Someone_, Porthos. Someone," he corrected. "You can hardly refer to him as a 'something'."

"Sorry. Someone is missin'. Where is 'e?" His question was directed at Tréville whilst they all knew the reference was to Athos.

"We searched all his usual drinking haunts, but he wasn't there." At last d'Artagnan spoke up.

"'E left the Wren last night in a good mood an' sober," Porthos added.

"And we can presume that he made his way back here safely and you were aware of that fact because you did not ask his whereabouts at this morning's muster," Aramis went on.

"Nor did you give him anythin' else to do."

The 'Porthos and Aramis double act' of quick ripostes then moved smoothly into action, leaving d'Artagnan to glance from one to the other in undisguised awe.

"'E's not sick or injured in the infirmary."

"Because we checked."

"An' he's not in the Mess room eatin' Serge out of 'ouse an' 'ome."

Aramis' laugh rang out. "That's good, very good. The idea of Athos eating any prodigious amount is both amusing and utterly ridiculous."

"An' Serge was actin' very strange, more so than usual."

"He would not look us in the eye, Captain, and endeavoured to distract Porthos with an extra helping of food without him even asking."

"Yeah, very strange an' that tells me 'e knows' somethin' an' he's lyin'."

"And why would he do that, Porthos?"

"Because he's been ordered to, Aramis."

"And who would give such an order?" Aramis fixed Tréville with a stare.

The Captain returned that stare with ease and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingertips. He would let them play out this little scene for he knew the underlying anger he detected in the pair emanated solely from their concern.

"The Captain's the one who gives the orders round here."

"You forget, Porthos, that our relatively new lieutenant also has that authority."

"You mean they're in on it together?"

"In on what? That's what I would like to know for Athos is not here, is he?"

He was addressing Porthos who shook his head.

"No he's not, an' neither is his 'orse."

"Nor, interestingly enough, is the stable boy. He was there when we approached the block, for I saw him but something made him run and he has not been seen since."

"Why d'you think 'e ran?

"I'm not sure, Porthos. Either the sight of you frightened him or he didn't want to talk to us."

"Or maybe both. An' why would that be, Aramis?"

"Because, like Serge and most unlike us, he also knows what's going on."

"I don't like not knowin' what's goin' on, Aramis."

"Ah, brother, I totally agree with you on that point. Come now, Captain," and here Aramis laid a hand on his heart as he spoke, "we know that you are of a very generous disposition, but we cannot think of a justifiable reason as to why you should give our dear friend a day off from his duties."

"So I'm askin' again," said Porthos. "Where's Athos?"


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

"Enough, gentlemen! You've had your fun," Tréville snapped. "Athos is not here; he is on a mission for the King."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged uneasy glances for it confirmed the idea that had occurred to both of them.

"Where is he?" Aramis asked this time.

"As of this moment?" Tréville answered. "I have absolutely no idea, but he is heading south. That is all I can tell you right now."

Aramis frowned. "Can or will? There is a subtle difference."

The Captain closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before he continued. "A bit of both. The business he is about is sensitive in nature."

"An' if it's sensitive, it's dangerous. Am I right?" Porthos' expression darkened.

Tréville hesitated. "It carries a certain element of risk, yes, but nearly all your assignments are not without their hazards."

"But under normal circumstances, we would have each other to rely upon for support but you have sent him alone," Aramis said. "Why? What is he doing?"

Tréville thought very carefully as he spoke as to how much he should divulge to them and decided he owed it to them to tell them as much as possible. "He is to infiltrate a group, ascertain some information and then get back here."

"What sort o' group?" Porthos demanded and, when the Captain did not immediately reply, he suddenly leaned heavily on the table, closing the gap between him and the man who commanded him. "What group?"

Aramis touched his shoulder in a silent communication to calm down and Porthos responded. Snorting his disgust, he slapped the desk's top with the palms of both hands and moved away to slouch angrily against a side wall, clenched fists flexing.

"Information suggests that a group of nobles are plotting something against the King. Athos has been tasked with verifying that claim and identifying those involved." Tréville hoped that this would be enough to placate them.

"So you've sent him to be a spy," Aramis summarised.

"That word again," the Captain mumbled under his breath.

"But that's good," d'Artagnan suddenly spoke up and then immediately flushed as he realised that he had drawn attention to himself.

"An' how d'you work that out?" Porthos growled slowly.

"Well, if Athos is going to pretend to be a noble, no-one could do it better than him. There's something about him, the way he carries himself and talks. They'd believe he was one of them."

Tréville held his breath. D'Artagnan's words, said in all innocence, could make things very difficult. He knew that Athos had not confided his real identity as Comte de la Fère to his brothers for reasons best known to himself, and although he had known the truth almost from the beginning, he was not about to betray the trust that Athos had bestowed upon him. The man was an enigma and even if Tréville did not agree with the secrecy, he had to honour and respect Athos' decision. Perhaps, one day, the troubled Musketeer would be able to tell his brothers more of his past.

"d'Artagnan has a point there," Aramis was talking to Porthos. "He has that air about him; we've said so often enough. If there's anyone who can rub shoulders with our betters and get away with it, it's Athos."

The tension in the air was palpable as Porthos considered what had been said. Eventually he nodded and all relaxed; Tréville hoped that none of them had heard his sigh of relief.

"How long will he be gone?" Aramis was concentrating on the practical now. His question was couched in the positive, but the underlying message was clearly there.

How long can Athos be gone before they should start worrying?

"He has four days travel and six days to make his contacts. There is to be a significant meeting and he must attend it. As soon as it is over, he can come back," Tréville explained, conscious of how easy it sounded in theory.

"He's a long way from home," Aramis said quietly, his mind now focused on all that could go wrong.

"He will send a written communication if need be and we have decided upon some codes if he has to send a messenger."

"If 'e's relyin' on writin' or a messenger, then he's in trouble," Porthos observed.

"He may not even get the opportunity to send either of those," Aramis added, his dark eyes filled with concern.

"A lot can 'appen to a man in the four days it'd take us to get to 'im." Porthos' previous anger had dissipated to a deep-seated worry.

"We could follow. He needn't know –" Aramis visibly brightened at his suggestion.

"No!" Tréville cut in. "Athos gave strict instructions that you were not to follow."

"He gave them?" Aramis was incredulous.

"Yes, and I agreed with him." Tréville prepared himself for the resurgence of the verbal storm. "Why else do you think I have waited to tell you he had gone? It was his stipulation that you be delayed as long as possible."

It was Aramis whose temper exploded. Snatching up his hat from where he had set it down on a chair, he swung it violently against the chair's back repeatedly.

"He's done it again!" he muttered angrily, his words in rhythm with the swiping of his hat.

"Hey!" Porthos called, striding across and grabbing Aramis by the shoulders, positioning himself between the man and the unfortunate chair. "You can't be thinkin' like that every time 'e does this!"

"Can't I?" Aramis hissed, his eyes blazing. "If he doesn't get himself killed this time, I'll do it for him." His mind was back on the Île de Ré when he thought Athos was lost to them, not once but twice.

"Thinking like what? Does what?" a voice said from near the door. D'Artagnan looked from one to the other, puzzled.

"Takes off on 'is own to do somethin' without sayin' anythin' to us!" Porthos ordered, never taking his eyes from Aramis' face.

D'Artagnan offered no protest but fell silent, although it was clear that he was absorbing the nugget of information, storing it away to be brought to the fore at a later date. He would eventually find out what he wanted to know. Tréville had seen him watching the three experienced Musketeers closely, copying them much of the time, his questions pouring from him like a river and hanging on their every word as they explained things to him and recounted stories of their past adventures. It was fair to say that Porthos and Aramis were the ones usually engaging in the anecdotes whilst Athos looked on with veiled amusement or rolling his eyes in that familiar way he had when they were spinning a yarn at his expense.

"Athos had little choice in the mission, nor the speed of his departure. The King and Richelieu pressed home the urgency and the Cardinal stressed he had more likelihood of success if he went alone."

Porthos lightly slapped Aramis on the shoulder and released him.

"The Cardinal? Why am I not surprised he is behind this?" Aramis commented.

"Because he often is, it comes with his position as First Minister," Tréville continued caustically. "You must not blame Athos."


	13. Chapter 13

Greetings from Hot Springs, Arkansas.

Apologies because I wrote a message before posting chapter 12 and it disappeared! As usual, I wanted to thank all those who have been reading the story and reviewing. I beg forgiveness for not responding to reviewers individually as I would do back home but between editing and posting these chapters, trying to find time to write new ones, updating social media on my adventures so friends and family can keep tabs on me and know I am okay, plus note making for the book based on this adventure (woeflly behind in that department at present), there are limits to the hours in the day as I am having so much fun and learning such a lot too. Nevertheless, I do love hearing from you and appreciate you taking the time and trouble. New friends are emergng all the time and it's great when you leave a comment.

I am just finishing chapter 21 at present so there is a little way to go before you 'catch up with me!'

So, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan now know what Athos is up to but are they happy or resigned to it?

CHAPTER 13

The three friends were in their favourite tavern but instead of revelling in the noise and bustle that surrounded them, they sat at a corner table in brooding silence, their mood an ironic copy of their absent friend.

"I don't like this. I don't like it one bit," grumbled Porthos. His ale mug was cupped in his hands, but he did not drink from it; he was concentrating on turning it in circles and glaring at its dark contents.

"Oh I do not think it's that bad," Aramas said, attempting a levity he did not feel. "It's no worse than we've had here before."

When his intended humour fell flat with his brothers, he downed the remaining ale in one and held out the empty pewter mug for the passing serving girl to refill. Under normal circumstances, he would have flirted outrageously with Cecille, bringing a blush to her cheeks, a sparkling gleam of anticipation to her eyes and a girlish giggle to her lips. She had greeted him with her usual enthusiasm but quickly sensed that something was wrong and withdrew, only approaching the table periodically to ensure that their drinks were replenished or to remove their abandoned, half-empty food bowls.

Something was clearly amiss for the big Musketeer to leave any food and her eyes swept the crowded room for their fourth. It had not escaped her notice that the dark, gloomy one who was normally with them would occasionally sit by himself at a table. The others would place themselves nearby and surreptitiously glance in his direction, but they would respect his privacy and maintain their distance until one or more of them decided that it was time to get him home, wherever that was. It never ceased to amaze her that he was still able to walk out the door, even if it was not unaided. There were other clients who did not imbibe as much as him and yet they would be unconscious in their seat or, worse, on the floor.

There was seldom any trouble with him; if anything occurred, it was usually the result of other people – often members of the Cardinal's Red Guard – deciding to cause difficulties and if he did not immediately retaliate, his friends would intervene. They always paid for any damage that might ensue and so her employer, Firmin Cosson, never had reason to complain to Captain Tréville but somehow the officer would make an 'unannounced visit' during the days immediately following any significant altercation. How he knew, Cosson could only guess at, but the Captain would explain that he always liked to see for himself that residents and businesses in the vicinity of the garrison were well and he did not want to appear distant and reclusive.

Cosson always said afterwards that it was the sign of a good commander. Tréville knew his men used the trades and taverns in the area and he did not want the regiment getting a bad name; he also understood that his soldiers weren't perfect and had to 'let off steam' somehow, as he was wont to put it, and if they had done something wrong that inconvenienced the locals, they were expected to rectify the matter promptly.

The tavern keeper defended the Musketeers and not just the four friends. As one of the taverns closest to the garrison, the soldiers' patronage was important to his coffers and he could not afford to lose their regular custom. It was just unfortunate that his establishment was also frequented by the Red Guard and they were not always so honourable. In fact – and here he was careful to remind the Captain – the Cardinal's Guard were more often the ones to instigate the trouble, when it did erupt.

Cecille's thoughts returned to the group. For so long, there had been three of them, but for some weeks now there had been a fourth. A handsome young man had succeeded in being accepted by the closely-knit trio but even he sat morosely, and she surmised correctly, as she set to cleaning the adjacent table and overheard the conversation, that their concerns were for their friend.

"I'm not talkin' about the ale as you well know," Porthos growled, unamused.

"Tréville doesn't seem to like the situation any more than we do," Aramis acknowledged.

"Then why's 'e not lettin' us do anythin' about it?"

Aramis sighed. "You heard his reasoning as well as d'Artagnan and I. You also heard that it was an instruction from Athos."

"We didn't 'ave to get in the way. We could've gone an' stayed our distance but at least we would've been closer if 'e'd needed us."

"You're assuming that he is going to get into some sort of trouble. Athos strikes me as one who can look after himself," d'Artagnan intervened.

The other two just stared at him for they had already seen the Gascon's undisguised admiration for their aloof friend.

"This is the man you accused of murder a few weeks ago an' 'e was totally innocent. We only got the King's reprieve to the Châtelet just in time to stop 'im bein' executed," Porthos reminded him. "If we'd been even a minute later…" He dared not think how close they had come to tragedy.

D'Artagnan looked downhearted for he had been trying his hardest since that incident to overlook how he had first met the three Musketeers.

Seeing the younger man's crestfallen expression, Aramis attempted to ease his disappointment. "Athos does not necessarily seek difficulties, but they somehow have a habit of being attracted to him; perhaps it is one of the downfalls of being a Musketeer. People want to test their mettle against those held to be the best; after all, we are supposed to be the King's élite."

"But he is not in uniform. These nobles will not know that he is a Musketeer," d'Artagnan persisted.

"But he is attempting to pass himself off as one of the nobles; there is much that can go wrong. I have no doubt about his ability with a sword to match any of them; his skills will far exceed most, but he is outnumbered and if he were to be overwhelmed, he stands no chance of defending himself."

"I say we go after 'im anyway," Porthos declared.

"Without Tréville's authorisation?" Aramis countered. "Then we'll be facing a court martial and will lose our commissions whilst poor d'Artagnan," and here he draped an arm around the Gascon's shoulders as they sat side by side on the wooden settle, "will never have the opportunity of wearing a pauldron."

D'Artagnan was torn. He desperately wanted to become a Musketeer but already looked upon these three men as the closest thing to family he had since the murder of his father. He could not bear to think of Athos being in such potential danger.

"Well 'e's due back in fourteen days. I don't like the idea of waitin' until the fifteenth day before we set off."

"My dear Porthos, we could set off on the fifteenth day and meet him on the outskirts of the city," Aramis grinned. "Think how displeased he would be; he would suspect that we don't think him capable of doing anything on his own without getting into trouble."

"We don't. I can't remember the last time we let 'im out of our sight when somethin' didn't 'appen."

"Very well," Aramis sighed. "We will ask Tréville if he will let us leave a few days earlier so we can either meet Athos on the road or at least be closer to finding him if need be. Satisfied?"

"No," Porthos responded getting to his feet and slamming his hat down on his head, "but I suppose it'll 'ave to do for now. I'm headin' for my bed, not that I reckon I'll be doin' much sleeping."

As the other two rose to join him, Aramis threw some coins on the table for Cecille.

They headed to the door, oblivious to the person who was sitting on the settle that backed onto theirs. The plain, woollen cloak with its hood conflicted with the rich fabric of the dress concealed beneath but, watching them go, her lower face concealed by a lace fan, was a green-eyed, dark-haired beauty who had heard every word of their evening's conversation.


	14. Chapter 14

Greetings from Hot Springs. Last full day in Arkansas; weather due to be better than yesterday! Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

So, last time, Milady was eavesdropping on the boys. What will she do now?

CHAPTER 14

"Tréville ought to make sure that his two Musketeers and d'Artagnan remain in Paris. They are reckless enough to jeopardise the mission," Milady de Winter suggested as she slowly made her way around behind the chair Richelieu was occupying at his desk. Knowing that he had turned to watch her progress, she trailed her fingers over the intricately carved surface of the cabinet against the wall.

"And you certainly would not want to jeopardise the mission, would you, my dear?" Richelieu queried.

The question was conversational, but her green eyes narrowed with suspicion. Richelieu was not one to waste his breath in unnecessary comment. Almost as quickly, she flashed him a beatific smile as she rounded his desk and stood before him once more.

"Of course not. I am, as ever, loyal to you and France. We need to determine what the nobles are plotting. I am still a little disappointed that you did not allow me to return to Troyes to find out further information. I am sure that I can be as effective in gaining information as any Musketeer."

"I have no doubt, but I wanted a man at that meeting. A woman would not be admitted and whilst you would use every one of your feminine wiles to extract information at other times, you would be missing much of what was said and by whom."

"There is no guarantee that Athos will be present," she said pointedly. Was there a hint of resentment in her tone?

"No but I believe that he does stand a better opportunity. After all," and here he looked directly at her, "he does have a decidedly noble air about him, don't you think?"

He was goading her deliberately. During the debacle with the Spanish Treaty a few months earlier, he had become curious as to the past behind the woman he employed as an agent and assassin and the enigmatic Musketeer. Convinced that they shared a history, he had initiated further investigations and discovered that they had been married and were none other than the Comte and Comtesse de la Fère.

The intense love story – the talk of the area at the time - had come to an abrupt end when she murdered the Comte's younger brother for reasons best known to herself. As upholder of the law in the area, Olivier d'Athos had been duty-bound to mete out the punishment. For murder, it was simple. The death penalty was the only choice and, consequently, she had been sentenced to hang.

From that moment, the young Comte had disappeared, abandoning his estate and a family name that had existed for generations whilst, somehow, she had survived the hangman's noose.

So, it transpired that the former nobleman had reappeared in Paris and won his commission in the King's Musketeers as Athos, whose past still had such a hold over him that he had developed a reputation for drinking to extremes – presumably he wanted to forget. For Richelieu, that was a sign of weakness and he could not understand why Tréville had promoted him to the rank of lieutenant.

Richelieu was convinced, though, that Athos remained oblivious to his wife's survival and yet she knew of his new life. The First Minister was always on the search for information that he could use against someone and he kept his knowledge close, awaiting the right time to make his revelation. He wondered how much Tréville knew of his man's real identity; perhaps it was something that he could use to his advantage against the Captain. There had been enjoyment in his insistence that the young Lieutenant be tasked with such an important mission because he carried himself 'like a noble'.

Milady had been vague in her answers when Richelieu wanted to know why she had nominated Athos to be framed as a thief and murderer in order to bring the Musketeer regiment into disrepute. He did not need her to tell him, of course, but it was interesting to see her evasiveness. She wanted revenge.

That was the real reason why the Cardinal had not allowed her to return to Troyes. He did not trust her enough to allow Athos to complete his mission; he suspected that her desire for vengeance would supersede any loyalty she claimed for the crown. It would be so easy for her to betray him as a Musketeer to any of the contacts she had already made in that region; to let someone else do her work in eradicating him.

Richelieu agreed with Tréville in that his lieutenant faced enough danger; there was every possibility that he would be recognised as the errant comte, so he actually wanted to help limit the risks, even if that meant keeping Milady in Paris. Besides, she had furnished him with news that gave him the idea on how to keep her occupied.

She was good, very good though and did not give any visible reaction to his question. "I suppose if you compare him with some of the other unkempt, dirty individuals that pass as Musketeers, he does appear more of a noble," she commented lightly.

"Don't you know, m'dear, that many of the Musketeer rank are the sons of nobles," Richelieu corrected.

"Hmm, that's what they would have you believe. But there are plenty more who are not. Look at Athos' closest friends for a start. Even d'Artagnan, who harbours hopes of joining the regiment, is only the son of a gentleman farmer."

"I also think Captain Tréville would object to your description of 'unkempt' and 'dirty'. He prides himself on how they look when they are on duty at the palace."

"Oh I admit that they look the part when at the palace," she eyed the Cardinal warily. "I mean, they are smarter than your Red Guard when they're on royal duty, but they're not always at the palace, are they?"

Richelieu gave a wry smile that failed to reach his eyes and ignored her provocative comment about his own regiment.

"I have a new task for you, my dear." He waited until he knew that he had her full attention. "Keep an eye on Porthos and Aramis. I would not put it past them to defy orders and pursue Athos. They have to remain in Paris. I am sure that you can manage. It would give you the opportunity to renew your friendship with the Gascon.

"You try to persuade me that he would be of service to me and he has not gained his commission in the Musketeers yet but the longer he remains with Tréville's _Invincibles_, the more likely he is to join forces with them, permanently. You must not allow that to happen."


	15. Chapter 15

Greetings from Elk City, Oklahoma. The weather is good and we will be back in Colorado tomorrow evening via Dodge City, Kansas. Great fun!

The plot thickens. I am about 8 chapters ahead of you at present and the plan is evolving daily. I really hope you will enjoy what's in store for the boys!

As always, many thanks to readers and reviewers. I love hearing what you think and that you take the time to respond. It is much appreciated.

Everything so far has happened in the space of 24 hours but now, suddenly, we leap forward three days.

CHAPTER 15

"We should adjourn to a more private place to discuss matters," Richelieu declared three days later when he and Tréville met with the King for their usual meeting. He inclined his head to indicate Porthos, Aramis and d'Atagnan who stood to attention behind their Captain.

"I disagree." Tréville stood his ground. "Athos is their friend and colleague and they understandably have concerns as to his well-being. Besides, Sire," and here he addressed the King directly," they need to be informed regarding the details of this mission so that it saves me the time spent having to repeat everything that passes between us here."

"You would deliberately leave here and disclose what has passed between us in confidence?" Richelieu was incredulous at the lack of secrecy.

"You make it sound as if I m going to leave here and make a proclamation to all and sundry," Tréville insisted. "I have given my reasons. As soon as I give the word, these men will head south in pursuit of Athos. They will not wait until he is long overdue."

Richelieu made to object, but the Captain stopped him with a raised hand.

"I have made my decision. If all has gone well, as we sincerely hope, they will meet him on the road when he is on his way back. If not, then they are there sooner to commence a search and try to ascertain what has happened. It's called a compromise, Cardinal. They will depart on the day of the meeting, no earlier and not a day later."

"I think that sounds very fair, Richelieu. Don't you?" the King interceded, for which Tréville was thankful.

"I still don't see why …" Richelieu began.

"And I don't see why they could not have followed and remained nearby," Tréville interrupted. "Why should you want him completely isolated?"

"That is a good point, Richelieu," the King added. "You were most insistent on that point. Do you know something we don't?" Louis smiled as if he were teasing the First Minister but his eyes narrowed with suspicion. At that moment, had it not been so utterly inappropriate, Tréville could have hugged his monarch.

"I know as much as you do, Sire," Richelieu persisted with a slight bow of deference. "Were I in possession of additional information, I would have shared it with you and the Captain here."

"That'd be a first," came a muttered voice from behind, audible enough to be heard by the Musketeers.

Tréville turned to glare at Porthos, who raised his eyebrows in feigned innocence as Aramis and d'Artagnan struggled to smoother their grins.

"I thought I had explained myself clearly enough when I initially broached the plan. Musketeer Athos has a certain air about him that would enable him to ingratiate himself with the plotters as if he were of a similar social standing." He looked directly at Tréville to see if his comment had touched a nerve that would indicate the Captain knew of Athos' aristocratic history, butthe seasoned soldier merely held his gaze and gave nothing away. "We have already heard from the Captain that an adequate story had been concocted as to why he was travelling alone, a disgruntled younger son of the nobility**. **He is unlikely to have a ragtag group of hangers-on."

Tréville heard the sharp intake of breath from Aramis at the clear insult and he bristled in their defence.

"I wonder that I have to remind you yet again, Richelieu, that these three men and Athos are my best men and I will not have you offend them like this and in their presence."

"You are abusing my Musketeers, Cardinal; I may well take it as a personal slight to me," added Louis reproachfully.

It had the desired effect and Richelieu was suitably chastened. He bowed again, giving himself time to recover himself. "My apologies, Sire; nothing was further from my mind."

It was obvious to everyone that his expression of guilt was merely to mollify Louis and not designed to include the others present.

"However," Tréville continued, "we are no further forward and cannot be until Athos furnishes us with the names of those involved. In the meantime, I hope Your Majesty has had time to peruse the increased security plans I have drawn up and find them to your satisfaction."

"I do, indeed, Captain. They are what I have come to expect of your meticulous planning."

It was all Tréville could do to stop himself looking at Richlieu with smug satisfaction. The Cardinal had, naturally, been awkward with the Captain when he had received a copy of the proposal and seen the extent to which his Red Guard were also being employed to supplement the Musketeer protection detail.

"It is a good thing, is it not, Richelieu, that we have the Captain's insight when it comes to our security?" asked Louis.

Tréville studied the King carefully and realised, with a stab of delight, that Louis was enjoying himself goading the stiff and humourless Cardinal. What was even more obvious and enjoyable was that Richelieu knew what he was doing and there was nothing he could do but suffer it.

"But I am a little surprised, Captain, that you have not supplied me with your plan for Versailles," Louis continued.

"Sire?" Tréville's pleasure disappeared in an instant.

"Yes, our usual visit to the hunting lodge. We always go at the end of this month. I am surprised that you did not remember it or are those arrangements to be handed to me separately? " Louis asked, smiling.

All differences forgotten in an instant, Tréville and Richelieu looked at each other with expressions that bordered on outright panic.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty," Richelieu, as the King's foremost advisor, began, "but given the current situation, neither the Captain nor I thought that you would continue with your annual trip until a plot is confirmed and we can act to apprehend those responsible. It is far easier to protect you here than at Versailles, unless you refrain from joining the hunting party."

"Don't be silly, my dear Cardinal!" the King admonished. "What on earth would be the point of my going to Versailles if I were not going to hunt? I have absolute faith in my Musketeers and your Red Guard to keep me safe. Besides," he added, his smile broadening, "I will have lots of my friends with me too."

_**A/N**_

_**I feel a little vindicated in using the word 'ragtag' as Shakespeare used it in 'King Lear' in 1605 so I can, at least, pretend that it made its way across the Channel in the next 25 years, or presume that there was something similar in French. **_


	16. Chapter 16

Greetings from Colorado Springs. A much needed rest day today after our adventures over the past 16 days but it has enabled me to plan in a lot of detail up to chapter 34. Just got to write them as well as make some alterations in the ready-to-post chapters as my thoughts have gone down different paths. Thank you, as always, to my readers and reviewers.

I know some of you are anxious to know what Athos is up to. I am giving nothing away but we are seeing the events from the perspective of Treville and the other three and learning things as they do and in their world, he won't even have reached his destination yet. I promise things do speed up from here on in.

So, Louis has dropped a bombshell with his intention to go to Versailles as normal. What happens now?

CHAPTER 16

"Lots of his friends!" Tréville hissed in exasperation as he and Richelieu strode towards the Cardinal's office. Their grim expressions and the sight of three armed Musketeers following determinedly in their wake encouraged anyone who saw them to move out of their way.

"Friends who are nobles and who may well be complicit in this plot against His Majesty," Richelieu added, ignoring the Red Guard who threw open the door to his office as he approached and closed it after the five men had entered.

Richelieu moved to sit behind his desk, moving papers on its surface as though searching for something even as the Musketeers arrayed themselves before him.

"Were you aware that he was still harbouring an intention to go to Versailles?" Tréville demanded.

"Of course not!" Richelieu spat out. "Do you seriously not think I would have attempted to dissuade him before this?"

Tréville thought for a moment. "And the more we try to object, the more immovable he will be on the plan."

"Exactly. So we will have to consider carefully how we proceed in this. The Versailles hunting trip is an annual venture and the plotters would know that and what was usual in a security detail. At least we have the advantage of knowing that such a plot exists so that we can make arrangements as necessary if he persists in going through with this charade."

"But we are usually looking for external dangers, not one that would come from within his supposed hunting 'friends'. It will be hard to keep them all under surveillance, especially when they are in the forest. He would not welcome being encircled by Musketeers when in pursuit of the prey."

"We could put it to him that he either accepts that or we cannot guarantee his safety," Richelieu suggested.

Tréville frowned, "And have him shoot one of my men by mistake? I would prefer to avoid that happenstance."

"No doubt but they're already running the risk of taking a bullet for him from an assassin's gun," Richelieu pointed out.

"There are other ways to kill a King when away from the Court," said Tréville, his mind racing as to the possibilities. "With the proximity to His Majesty that a hunting party gives, they could use poison during a meal at Versailles."

"With respect, Captain, Cardinal," Aramis spoke up. "It would be even easier during a hunt when the King has a pavilion erected to take refreshments. All food preparation would need to be supervised at Versailles and whilst setting up in the field."

"You are right," Richelieu noted.

"An' a ridin' accident would be easier to arrange," Porthos said. When he had their attention, he continued. "We'd need to guard the King's horses, saddles and stuff. Stitchin' on the equipment'd be easy to weaken, a shoe loosened, anythin'."

"And depending upon where the King chose to ride, not all the terrain is flat. If several are involved, they could manoeuvre the hunt towards uneven ground so that a riding 'accident' might be arranged," Aramis added.

"Whilst some of the conspirators might make up the King's party, there could be many others who would be in the area to help in the carrying out of whatever it is they have arranged," d'Artagnan commented.

Tréville took a deep breath. "We could have plenty of soldiers to guard the royal family and monitor the guests and staff, but still find our increased measures woefully inadequate if there are more outsiders. If the collaborators within the hunting party and their accomplices are in sufficient number, they might feel they have nothing to lose and launch an all-out attack. We could be setting ourselves up for a massacre."

"Suddenly it becomes even more important that Athos gets that information," Aramis observed quietly.

"An' that he gets it back 'ere in one piece," Porthos concluded.

All the men fell silent, contemplating what had been said.

"I assume you keep a copy of all guest lists for anything relating to His Majesty?" Tréville commented, knowing full well that Richelieu kept copies of everything, even the seemingly unimportant in case it would have a future use.

"Of course," Richelieu replied. It was a ridiculous formality for he knew that Tréville expected him to keep such information and more.

"Then we need to look at those lists for every hunting party at Versailles. Who are the regular guests who would have formed a familiarity with the place? Who has attended upon His Majesty who may have recently fallen from favour? Has he compiled the list for this trip? Are there any surprises?"

"It will take time," Richelieu said, eying Tréville and his men with a grudging respect as they began to explore all eventualities.

"As will going through all recent petitions to the King that he may have denied. These men have a motive for their actions, and we need to determine what that might be. We could await Athos and his information but if we have identified possibilities here, we could be making our own plans in readiness and if he happened to be delayed for any reason…" He left his sentence unfinished.

"How far back do you want to look?"

"Perhaps a year in the first instance. Someone is going to have to be sufficiently upset by something to start sounding out like-minded individuals and arranging this meeting," Tréville said.

"A year? That also is going to take a lot of time," countered Richelieu.

Tréville smiled. "I know. But I am sure that you will agree with me when I say it is of vital importance that any conceivable patterns or links are identified. We can't have some disappointed nobles believing that all they have to do to get their own way is to murder their King! But don't worry, Cardinal. I do not expect you to do this research alone. I will put these three and myself at your disposal. With five of us working hard, we can significantly reduce the burden!"

The Captain watched Richeliue's hesitation and suppressed his satisfaction. The Cardinal was weighing up the importance of the King's safety with the worrying inconvenience of the Musketeers – especially Tréville - delving into his documents. He was quickly determining if it would reveal anything that he would rather they did not see.

He responded with his own smile that did not reach his eyes. "But of course. Give me some time to gather the documents and we will begin. Shall we say this afternoon?"

The Captain frowned. Would it give Richelieu time to destroy anything? It would certainly give him time to select what he was going to make available to them to search. With the King's safety at stake, he would have to hope that Richelieu would go through any sensitive papers himself rather than ignore them.

Tréville placed his hat on his head in readiness for his departure. "That would be perfect. If I am to be detained here with business, I need to make some arrangements first."

He nodded and turned on his heels. The three men behind him parted to let him pass between them and, with one last look at the Cardinal, they followed their Captain from the room.


	17. Chapter 17

Greetings. Am still in Colorado Springs and will be either here or in Parker, Denver for the next week.

Thank you so much to all those of you who have been reading this and other stories in the past few days and also to those who are reviewing. This chapter is the first of the ones I have written since coming away and I am trying to get used to a new tablet as I go along. Useless as I am, I can't find accents so, from here on in, Treville, the Chatelet, Athos' former title etc are all without the appropriate accents, for which I humbly apologise!

So, will Richelieu get the better of our men? I certainly hope not! Treville's mind begins to work overtime as he sees conspiracy and revenge everywhere whilst his concerns for Athos continue to grow apace.

CHAPTER 17

When the Musketeers returned to the Palace, they found that Richelieu had had four tables and chairs brought into the vast room to enable them to work. It was also obvious that whilst the tables were spaced out, there was a significant gap between them and his desk. He clearly did not want them anywhere near him, not that any of them minded.

On the top of each table sat a pile of documents for the respective soldier to peruse, along with spare paper, a quill and ink for the compilation of a list of suspects.

"I presume your men are all capable of meeting the task," he said snidely to Treville, whilst his eyes were firmly fixed upon Porthos, who heard the comment and paused in the process of sitting down so that he could glare at the man who had spoken. His ability to read and write was being called into question and, not for the first time, he was thankful that both Athos and Aramis had expended time and energy in teaching him to be more proficient with his letters.

Yet again, the Captain had to bite back the anger, knowing that Richelieu was deliberately pushing him and his men, exploring just how much it would take to elicit an unfavourable response, but he was determined that he would not give the Cardinal any such satisfaction.

"We are all quite able to rise to the challenge of the task, Cardinal, but I thank you for your concern. We would not all be here otherwise," Treville answered icily.

There was an unbridled tension in the room but as each man settled to the job in hand, there was a renewed sense of unity and the frequent scratch of a nib on paper as they listed possibilities was initially reassuring; their time was not being wasted. However, there was a disturbing realisation as the lists grew.

His Majesty had potentially upset a somewhat large proportion of his nobles in the previous twelve months.

Richelieu alone viewed the existing guest lists for the Versailles hunting parties whilst Treville referred to documents relating to the incarceration or release of any of France's nobility from the Chatelet or Bastille during the last year. He then turned his attention to court papers; there was always the possibility that a non-custodial yet still humiliating punishment had been awarded or, worse, a death sentence proclaimed.

The Captain's thoughts wandered to that terrible day only weeks earlier when Athos had been arrested on the King's orders and brought before him on charges of multiple murder and theft. The 'evidence' had been a complete fabrication and, despite Treville's protests to that effect, Athos faced execution with less than twenty-four hours for Aramis and Porthos to prove his innocence. If truth be told, the Captain had desperately hoped they were successful but secretly feared that it could not be done and the former comte was already standing before a firing squad when Aramis delivered the King's pardon.

That Louis had never offered Treville's lieutenant an apology for the miscarriage of justice rankled with the Captain but he had known Louis long enough to realise that the King often took every conceivable measure to ensure that he did not have to take responsibility for or admit to any errors on his part. Treville wondered if, on returning with the desired information, Athos would receive any thanks or recognition for the risks he had undertaken. The unpalatable likelihood was that _if_ Athos returned, whether unscathed or injured, Louis would regard it as being a necessary inconvenience for the privilege of being a member of his personal guard.

The question still remained in Treville's mind as to the identity of the person or persons behind the accusations levelled at Athos. The man who had claimed to be him whilst carrying out a range of crimes had died by d'Artagnan's hand for being the one who had actually murdered the Gascon's father in cold blood. There had been other Red Guard involvement: the one who had furnished Porthos and Aramis with much-needed information had died suddenly of poisoning in the Chatelet and no-one there seemed to recall who his last visitor had been. How convenient!

Treville had his suspicions for there had not been any attempt on Richelieu's part to bring his errant men to account. It was the Cardinal who had advised the King that information had been received of musketeers running amok on a crime spree and it was the Cardinal who insisted that Louis should order Treville to investigate, demanding to know if any men were missing. Yes there were, but they were good, reliable men on a mission. He later learned that they had been cut down, their bodies left to rot in a snowy field when their uniforms were stolen to perpetuate the allegation of Musketeer wrong-doing.

A chill ran down Treville's spine as he suddenly thought of another snowy field in Savoy five years earlier, red with the blood of his men and where he had found a terribly injured Aramis. Was it coincidence or a sinister similarity? Richelieu had been cognisant then of the group of training Musketeers, using the information given him by Treville to fool Savoy into thinking that he was under Spanish attack when it was a move to protect the Duchess, Louis' sister and a spy for France.

Had Richelieu subsequently manoeuvred Athos deliberately into the position of scapegoat for some nefarious purpose of his own design? One that would bring the Musketeer regiment into disrepute with the King and the people of Paris? And did his failure to see Athos executed then have any bearing on his insistence now that Athos be the one for this particular mission? Treville did not think the Cardinal was beyond some form of revenge when the occasion called for it.

"Here." A voice broke his train of thought even as a hand clasping a goblet of wine nudged his shoulder and set the drink before him.

Momentarily startled, Treville looked up to see Aramis gazing down on him in concern.

"You were lost just then," the marksman commented.

Treville nodded. "Just my nasty, suspicious mind working overtime." He took a sip of the wine. It was good stuff. "Where did this come from?"

"The Cardinal. He's gone for his evening meal and will return when finished. He did not extend an invitation to us but has, at least, ordered some food to be brought to us here whilst we continue to work, rather than have us waste time by going back to the garrison. It seems we are to remain until every avenue has been exhausted."

"He said all that?" Treville was puzzled. Just how long had he been distracted and had the Cardinal noticed?

"Not in so many words," Aramis conceded, "but the hint was there."

Treville stretched to ease the kinks in his back where he had sat in one position for too long. At the same time, the doors opened to admit two servants carrying trays of food which they set down on a coffer standing against a wall. A tantalising aroma reached the hungry Musketeers.

"That smells good," Porthos announced from his table.

"Well I would hate it to go cold," Treville declared, "so I suggest we avail ourselves of the Cardinal's rare generosity and eat as we work. I, for one, would be happy to see this job concluded before he comes back."


	18. Chapter 18

Good morning from Parker, Denver. Home alone and looking forward to a good writing day; not all of the time can be spent on Revenge though! I am woefully behind in other things as adventures come thick and fast.

Thank you for comments on Chapter 17 and all those who continue to read the story. Thanks also to Helen who has helped solve my 'accents' problem on the tablet. I am being lazy though and rectifying it from chapter 24 onwards.

So the state of 'war' (mainly in words) continues between the Cardinal and the Musketeers. They have to work together somehow.. Porthos is definitely not a happy man though.

CHAPTER 18

The next morning, the Musketeers were seated once again at their respective tables and waiting for the arrival of the Cardinal who was 'detained' on other business, despite specifying the hour that he expected the Musketeers and d'Artagnan to put in an appearance.

"'E's doin' this deliberately," Porthos grumbled.

"Of course he is," Treville agreed, refusing to let any annoyance show in preference of the taste of victory he detected. "Richelieu is put out that we had finished the tasks allotted to us by the time he deigned to grace us with his presence again last night. Perhaps he had expected us to disappear with the job undone and he was disappointed that he had no cause for complaint. I cannot be the only one to have seen that the quantity of documents we had to peruse all exceeded that which he assigned to himself."

The other three murmured their agreement.

"So I have to thank you for your diligence, gentlemen, in a job well done," he added.

"Anythin' to upset the Cardinal," Porthos growled. "Besides, we 'ad to do somethin' to take our minds off worryin' about Athos an' it seemed like we were 'elpin' him in some way."

The two other friends nodded furiously.

"This is his fifth day," d'Artagnan observed quietly.

"He should have reached Troyes by now," Aramis declared.

"An' started makin' his contacts."

"And put himself at risk."

"Don't start thinking like that, Aramis," d'Artagnan advised.

"I started thinking like it four full days ago," Aramis said, his bitterness evident.

The others were prevented from making any further comment by the arrival of the Cardinal, black robe billowing behind him as he strode towards his desk and took his seat.

"So, gentlemen, we are here to discuss and possibly cross-reference our findings from yesterday and produce a final list of suspects, ranking them in order of potential threat," and he reached for the paper he had prepared from the top of a pile of documents.

No greeting, cordial or forced, and no apology for keeping them waiting for over an hour. It certainly was not because he was in attendance upon the King for Louis had risen late claiming that he was not sleeping so well with all this additional worry! Then he had had a leisurely breakfast before deciding upon taking a turn around the gardens with the Queen. He had sent a missive to Treville and the Cardinal informing them of his plans and insisting that they update him with their findings before the day was out.

This delay with the Cardinal was nothing more than a slight against the Musketeers, Treville in particular. Richelieu was fond of devising every conceivable method to antagonise the soldier but it said something of the Captain's mettle that he seldom rose to the bait unless the situation was extreme – and this one involving Athos was falling into that category. Even d'Artagnan had seen enough of the Captain to understand his current grim expression and the taut facial muscles as he focused on only that which was relevant.

"We will also need to ascertain the whereabouts of those we shortlist," Treville added, all business-like now. "Who is currently at court and who is expected to join the King's company at Versailles. We should initiate some sort of surveillance for those here in Paris. A major concern will be those who are neither in Paris nor expected at Versailles because it will be almost impossible to check where they are in time for the hunting party at the end of the month."

"I concur with your evaluation of the situation," Richelieu conceded with a modicum of grace. "Now, who should feature as a concern?"

The five men spent the next two hours or more naming and discussing those they had identified the previous day; very few were eliminated as unlikely candidates and that was primarily due to advanced age or known infirmity and had initially been included by Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan; they did not have the knowledge of courtiers like the Cardinal and the Captain.

When the discussions were exhausted, they sat back in their respective chairs, disappointed by the length of the 'short list' Richelieu had created.

"That's not what I'd call a short list," Porthos quipped under his breath to Aramis.

"Thank you for that astute observation," Richelieu said cuttingly, overhearing the remark. "I suggest, Treville, that as the surveillance was your idea, we assign your men here to watching those at the top of the list who are at court."

"They will not be able to watch all of them, even if they take two each," Treville said pointedly. There was significantly more than six nobles, even at the Louvre, who had good reason to be unhappy with the King.

"An' we won't be watchin' them for long. We're on the road headin' south in five days," Porthos reminded everyone present, just in case any of them had forgotten.

"That will not be possible," Richelieu announced.

"But ..." Porthos began to object but Treville silenced him with a raised hand.

"I gave these men my word that they could go after Athos on the tenth day."

Richelieu was barely containing his exasperation. "As touching as their loyalty to each other is, Treville, the situation has changed dramatically in the past twenty-four hours and they must be involved in the surveillance. Do I need to remind the four of you of your oath to the King and country?"

"Not at all," Treville said pointedly, almost through gritted teeth. "But we have just ascertained that the list is too long and between us we cannot watch all of those named. If we had more men ..."

"I am unwilling to let more of your men – or mine, for that matter – know what we are doing," Richelieu interrupted. "The less people who know of the threat, the better our chances are of identifying those involved in the conspiracy and therefore better placed to foil any attempt on the life of His Majesty. You and I could possibly watch more than a couple each and my agent remains in Paris for now and can likewise be involved."

"So you saw fit not to send her south again to Troyes?" Trevillle kept his voice conversational, his reference to 'her' almost unnoticed. He had not forgotten the mystery woman.

"Exactly, I thought it better that ..." and the Cardinal stopped, realising just what Treville had said. It was too late to correct him on the gender. "Better that my agent remain here to await further orders," he went on vaguely. "A good thing, it seems, if we have a number of suspects."

It was a vain hope that he had covered his error for the Captain was not a stupid man but perhaps interest had at least been deflected.

"You said we could leave on the tenth day," Porthos growled, fixing his commanding officer with an angry glare.

"You heard the Cardinal; things have changed," the Captain declared, the warning obvious in his voice.

"Interesting, Treville," goaded Richelieu, watching and listening to the exchange. "I'm currently wondering who is in charge of the Musketeers at this moment."

Aramis grabbed Porthos by the arm and made to pull him away. "Leave it, Porthos. You're making things bad for the Captain. I don't like this any more than you do but we have no choice, nor does the Captain."

"You would do well to heed your friend, Musketeer," Richelieu added.

"Thank you, Cardinal. If anyone is to speak to my men, it will be me; there is no need to trouble yourself." Treville felt the need to re-establish his control.

Richelieu looked as if he were about to make another caustic comment but Porthos took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height.

"I'll do the watching for nine days after this," he suddenly announced, his stern gaze resting upon the Cardinal so that the churchman was in no doubt as to his meaning and why. "I don't much like the idea but if it has to be done, I'll do it, and then I am on the road south and no-one is going to stop me."


	19. Chapter 19

Greetings from Colorado Springs. Leaving here in an hour or so to go to Denver for the night and back tomorrow before the snow arrives! Departure for Nevada delayed until Friday. I will definitely upload one more chapter before then but my friend has warned me that internet is very 'iffy' where we will be. I will try hard to make best use of it when it is functioning!

Thanks, as always, to those who have been reading, marking as favourite and reviewing.

In this chapter, the Captain tries to explain to Richelieu what makes his men special and the best, and why they are so worried about Athos, but is he listening?

CHAPTER 19

"Your man is somewhat forthright," Richelieu said later as he and Tréville waited for the King in the palace's main library in order to give him the required update on the situation. "I am surprised that you allow him such a degree of insubordination."

"I am prepared to reprimand him and any man in my regiment when occasion demands it," Tréville insisted, prepared to defend Porthos against any unfounded prejudice that Richelieu had developed against the soldier. "He is an honest man and you know where you are with him. His trust is hard won but once you have it, you have his loyalty for life. Right now, he and Aramis have only one thing on their minds and that is Athos' safety," Tréville reminded him.

"And you actively encourage such loyalty and friendship between your men?"

Tréville eyed the Cardinal carefully, suspecting that another insult regarding his regiment was being generated but, to his surprise, Richelieu's curiosity appeared genuine enough. It was probably not something widely witnessed amongst the Red Guard.

"I do not have to encourage it," Tréville explained. "It seems to evolve naturally but the depth of brotherhood between those three is not something even I have frequently seen in my time as a soldier."

"And you believe that sets them apart and makes them your best men? You do not fear that their 'brotherhood', as you put it, is a distraction? That they would put each other first before a mission or their King?"

Again, Tréville readied himself for criticism and thought hard about his answer. "They are highly trained soldiers and know what is expected of them. The three of them are totally different in background, temperament and personality but they undoubtedly complement each other. They are, for want of a better description, three parts of a whole. They have their own skills and, put to the test, make a formidable trio, a force to be reckoned with. They do not live in each other's pockets but, when it matters, where you find one, the other two will not be far behind. They back up each other, which is why Porthos and Aramis are finding the current situation difficult; they are not close enough to support their brother should he need it."

"You do not see this concern as a weakness then?"

Tréville knew that Richelieu was finding it hard to understand what made the trio function so effectively. "Quite the opposite; it is what makes them stronger."

He was not about to admit that he, too, garnered a much-needed strength from their presence, even though they were equally capable of incurring his wrath, such were their antics.

"And what about the Gascon? D'Artagnan is his name, isn't it? How does he fit into their little clique? After all, he isn't a Musketeer yet. I presume that is his intention."

Tréville frowned. How had d'Artagnan come so quickly to the Cardinal's attention. The man was oblivious to the existence of the majority of the individual Musketeers. On reflection, it must have been the young man's part in the business involving Vadim. Or was there more to Richelieu's interest?

The Captain mentally reprimanded himself. What was happening to him that he suspected every word that emanated from the Cardinal and questioned the man's motives at every turn? The answer was swift and simple and he might have laughed out loud had there been anything amusing. The Cardinal's every decision and scheme warranted it, but it was wearing forever trying to remain one step ahead and weighing up all that he said in response.

"I am sure that you recall," Tréville began slowly and deliberately, "that when d'Artagnan first arrived in Paris not so long ago, he thought Athos responsible for the murder of his father. There followed that farcical trial with ridiculous, so-called evidence that condemned Athos to certain death. Well, d'Artagnan was instrumental in helping Pothos and Aramis find what was needed to overturn the judgement."

He saw Richelieu stiffen and decided to press home his advantage as he was convinced the Cardinal was involved somehow. "If I ever find the person or persons responsible for endangering Athos with those false charges, they will have me to answer to. I do not take kindly to the reputation of any of my men or my regiment being brought into disrepute."

Richelieu cleared his throat. "Indeed, I understand your sentiment entirely."

"I hoped you might," Tréville added pointedly. "Anyway, it all ended well thankfully. I am certainly grateful for what d'Artagnan did and the other three feel likewise. Since the boy was bereaved so violently, they seem to have adopted him and are assisting him in securing his commission. If he continues to make himself useful, I am sure it will not take him too long."

The Cardinal's features darkened, convincing Tréville that the interest in the young Gascon and the three Inseparables was far from innocent. The Captain would need to be on his guard to protect his men. Then he remembered Athos many miles south and alone and prayed that he would remain safe.

"So what do you think of our list of suspects?" the Cardinal abruptly changed subject.

"Worrying in its length and diversity. It ranges from the highest to lowest amongst the ranks of the aristocracy," Tréville admitted. "We have probably been overly cautious ..."

"Better that than recklessly negligent," Richelieu interrupted.

"Oh I agree and, given the potential numbers, our intended surveillance within the royal court is woefully inadequate. We need to try to be mindful of any meetings any of them might have with each other. They could be consolidating details for their absent confederates currently in the south but with the increased security we have already initiated around Their Majesties, any attempt upon their persons would be foolhardy."

"So all is good in Paris. If only we could persuade the King to cancel his trip to Versailles," Richelieu declared, oblivious to a door having opened behind him.

"And that will not happen, my dear Cardinal," Louis announced as he bustled into the room. His whole demeanour was much happier than in the preceding days. "I trust my wonderful Musketeers and the Red Guard to fulfil their roles. Never let it be said that the King of France hides away at the merest hint of danger. We will proceed with the hunting party as planned. Before that, though, you will tell me whom you suspect so that I will not allow them near my person."


	20. Chapter 20

Greetings from Grants, New Mexico, via Santa Fe and Albuquerque.

Thanks as always to readers and reviewers for taking the time.

Things are about to take a turn for the worse!

CHAPTER 20 Revenge

Cardinal Richelieu was reviewing the list that the King had finally given him regarding those whom he wished to attend upon him at Versailles for the hunting party. It was going to be a strategic nightmare and the Cardinal was relieved that the security was chiefly the domain of the Musketeer Captain, but it did not deter him from insisting upon scrutinising the arrangements, especially if his own Red Guard were expected to swell the protective numbers.

He had cross-referenced the King's list with the one he and the Musketeers had drawn up over the preceding two days and he was perturbed that, despite providing His Majesty with the list of possible suspects, Louis had decided to disregard it completely, declaring loudly that he could not possible believe that this person was potentially involved or the fact that that person's family went back so far, their loyalty to the crown was without question.

"So, the King is completely ignoring what he said he was going to do yesterday, and that was to keep any suspects as far away from him as possible. He has not eliminated any of them from his list," Richelieu said out loud to himself within the confines of his cavernous office.

"It is a bad sign when you are forced to converse with yourself," a sultry voice announced lightly from the open doorway of the secret access to the office.

"You are being presumptuous, my dear, if you believe that you can come and go so freely from this room," Richelieu grumbled. "I am very busy and not in the mood for one of your inconsequential tale-telling sessions." He refused to even look in her direction.

Slipping back the hood of the dark blue cloak to reveal her ornately dressed hair, she pouted and moved with silent grace to stand opposite him.

"I was never given to understand that you regarded any of my reports as 'tale-telling', inconsequential or otherwise. I have always tried my utmost to bring you what I considered to be serious and valuable intelligence."

Richelieu sighed and sat back in his seat to study her. My, but she was a beauty and a distraction. How could the Musketeer Athos have given her up? He must have been mad! The Cardinal briefly considered whether or not he would be prepared to forgive her of a heinous crime to keep her close and decided that he would have made the effort – at least until he was ready to dispose of her services.

"I take it that you have something serious and valuable for me now?" he said gruffly.

"But of course," and she took a moment to move closer, lifting herself to perch upon the corner of the desk and rearranging her skirt around her, covering some of the papers he had been reading. He could smell her familiar floral perfume, delicate and intoxicating.

"What if I were to tell you that Gaston is on the move?"

Richelieu sat upright. "Are you being serious now?"

She was delighted by the response she had elicited. "Naturally. That is hardly something I would fabricate, is it?"

His eyes narrowing, he studied her hard. "What else do you know?"

The flirting stopped; she was an agent making an important report and there were things he needed to know.

The Cardinal frowned. "On the move heading where? To the meeting at Troyes?"

If so, the situation had suddenly worsened. Gaston, Duc d'Orleans and younger brother of the King, had already been guilty of working against Louis. Was this the beginning of another attempt? Had he thrown in his lot with the disgruntled nobles?

Milady de Winter shook her head, causing a cascade of dark, shining curls to move against the pale, flawless skin of her right shoulder. "My information is not conclusive as yet, only that he is travelling westwards. He could head south or come north."

"North?" Richelieu was incredulous. "Here? To Paris?"

The very idea of Gaston arriving in Paris was unthinkable. The relationship had, to all intents and purposes, irretrievably broken down between the two royal brothers following Gaston's previous behaviour and they had not seen each other in the years since, nor had there been much of a written communication. Would he dare return to Paris? Was this all part of the plot of the nobility to usurp or fatally harm their King in order to replace him with his spiteful heir?

Not for the first time, Richelieu regretted that the Queen seemed unable to produce a son for Louis. Although becoming pregnant, she had not successfully carried a child to full term and the prospect of the King's brother ultimately gaining the throne legally was the stuff of nightmares to the Cardinal.

He needed to see Treville and as quickly as possible, but he strove to exude an aura of absolute calm. He was not about to alert this particular agent to the extent of his concerns.

"My informant was unsure of his destination. The route he had started upon could bring him here or take him to Troyes. I expect regular updates but he thought I needed to know of the Duc's movement as soon as possible."

Richelieu nodded his approval. "I thank you. Let me know immediately you hear anything new."

Knowing that she was being dismissed, she turned to leave but the Cardinal stopped her.

"I believe Tréville has curbed his men's desire to be on the road after their friend – at least for the present. They have been issued a task, albeit a boring one of surveillance, but you might want to renew your acquaintance with young d'Artagnan to ensure that they are not plotting something themselves."

Her head dipped in acknowledgment of the order and had almost disappeared from view when he spoke again.

"I will have need of you to undertake some surveillance too. Here are the names of those I need you to watch."

With outstretched arm, he held out a folded piece of paper so that she was forced to return to him to take it. Neither spoke and she merely nodded, both of them knowing that this was a little demonstration of him reminding her who was in control.

He waited until the secret door in the panelling had closed behind her before he summoned a messenger to hasten to the garrison to bring Tréville to him.

In the event of an unexpected visit from the Duc d'Orleans, they had to make very careful preparations.


	21. Chapter 21

Greetings from Las Vegas. Internet is SO erratic at present. Currently taking advantage of free resources at a a consultant's surgery. Don't panic- friends just having check-ups. We left Colorado just in time Friday between storms. 7 inches so far in the Springs as of this morning!

What will happen if Gaston comes to Paris? Thanks to all who have been reading and reviewing.

CHAPTER 21

I

The Musketeer captain came to the palace immediately on being summoned by the Cardinal. Something in the way the hastily scribbled missive was worded had alerted Treville to the fact that this was not a simple whim on the part of the other man to inconvenience him just when he was trying to prepare a mass movement of his regiment to Versailles before the month's end.

He had long experienced the First Minister's little mind games and behaviour so to be offered a chair the moment he entered the Cardinal's presence indicated that whatever he was about to hear was serious. With a sinking heart, he sat and listened to the Cardinal's news about Gaston.

Treville had his own thoughts regarding the jealous, quick-tempered younger brother of the monarch but was not at liberty to express them and so he kept his opinions guarded whilst the Cardinal vented his anger when the two of them were in private. They dare not overlook the possibility that the Duc's departure from Orleans and the meeting in Troyes were linked.

Treville allowed himself one burst of frustration. "Everything we are doing and thinking at present is couched in uncertainty and 'what ifs'. We have no verified information with which to work; absolutely everything is hearsay. There is purportedly this meeting of a group of nobles in Troyes. We have one possible name. I have sent one of my men on a potential wild goose chase to find out who else is there.

"Five of us have spent nearly two days putting together a list of nobility who _might _have a grievance against the King. We have commenced surveillance on a group of courtiers who _might _ be involved and now that we hear that Gaston has left his home, we are concerned that the two situations _might_ be linked and that he _might _be on his way to Paris. All the while, I am increasing security for the King at Versailles because he insists on going hunting and whoever _might _be against him _might _just launch an attack. Can anything be more vague?"

"I agree with you. It is preposterous and high time that things started working in our favour; we need solid evidence from someone and somewhere. My agent here awaits news regarding Gaston."

"And it will be days yet before Athos returns with any news from the meeting, always supposing he manages to gain admittance to it," Treville added.

"His friends are co-operating?" Richelieu asked.

"They are watching the people to whom they have been assigned, if that's what you mean," Treville answered . "They are not happy about it, no more than I am, but they are doing what has been asked of them and I can expect no more. The surveillance is superficial at best and whilst they are prepared to remain on duty until the early hours of the morning, they need some food and rest so if their target decides to go wandering for clandestine meetings in the middle of the night, we have to accept that it may well be missed."

"So be it." The Cardinal was being unexpectedly reasonable – things definitely were bad then. "You nor I can do any more, not when there are other matters of security to be decided."

Richelieu paused and then sighed. "I dared to suggest earlier that the Queen might remain in Paris; it would mean one less person to worry about but not only did I have Louis to contend with then, but the Queen also. She is adamant that no threat will keep her from her husband's side and insists that she should be highly visible as a symbol of unity; she will not – and I quote - be 'cowed by plotters.'"

"Commendable and only to be expected from Her Majesty, but with her will come a retinue of female attendants and courtiers, wives of those on the hunt."

"Those were my thoughts exactly and whilst I admire her courage and know that her presence will do much to maintain calmness in Louis, I cannot help but feel that we will be stretched to the limit if there is a large contingent of females who need protection in the event of an attack. We might already find ourselves at a disadvantage, even with our increased and combined manpower."

"Another _might_," Treville added grimly. "Nor can we disregard the possibility that Her Majesty could become the prime target. What better way is there to force Louis to acquiesce to do something – short of directly attacking him - than by using the Queen as a bargaining tool?"

Richelieu groaned. "Your pessimism is usually annoying, Treville, but in this instance, it is serving a purpose."

"Thank you, I think," Treville said warily. He was wondering if perhaps there was a compliment contained there somewhere.

Richelieu stood up and re-arranged his robe. "I fear that we have a more pressing problem in that we have to inform His Majesty of his brother's movements and possible arrival at the palace."

II

"Why is he coming to see me? I do not want him here. There is nothing to be said between us. Do I not have enough to worry about with my nobles acting against me? Stop him, Armand! He cannot – must not – be allowed to reach Paris."

The King was extremely agitated upon hearing the news concerning his brother, just as Richelieu and Treville had feared, but they knew better than to attempt to conceal such news from their sovereign. The resultant tirade would be far worse if they delayed or Gaston's arrival suddenly became imminent.

Richelieu tactfully attempted to explain that the Duc's visit might be linked to the nobles' unrest, at which point Louis was bordering on the hysterical.

Some time later, when a glass of red wine and various confections had been brought to distract him and the Queen sat beside him, sympathetically stroking his arm, the First Minister and Musketeer Captain felt able to approach him and resume their discussion.

"After what he did before, the very thought of him being here, under the same roof, is utterly unbearable." Louis was close to tears, such was his distress.

"Has it occurred to Your Majesty that your brother might be seeking to make amends for his former actions and that this is a tentative step on his part towards reconciliation?" the Cardinal suggested.

Treville's eyes widened. Given their earlier discussion, he could not believe that Richelieu was attempting to excuse Gaston but then he realised that it was yet another ruse to placate the king.

Louis pondered the notion and shrugged. "It is his responsibility to make that first move. After all, the wrong was done to me."

"Indeed it was, Sire," Richelieu agreed.

The King now visibly brightened. "And I will have you, Armand, and my dear Captain of Musketeers to protect me. Gaston would not dare act against me here within my own palace."

Treville inhaled deeply. Keeping the King safe at the Louvre was one thing but it was an entirely different matter if Gaston arrived and then decided he would accompany Louis to Versailles.


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

"This'll be the eighth day 'e's been gone," Porthos grumbled as he mounted the stairs to Treville's office behind Aramis.

"So he'll be there, will have made his contacts and be ready for that meeting the day after tomorrow," d'Artagnan said a little too cheerily. As the hours and days passed, there was no lightening in the mood of any of them; if anything, it was Porthos who had descended into a deeper quagmire of despondency than the others. He was barely keeping his temper under control and the slightest provocation instigated a verbal explosion and the threat of physical violence to anyone who crossed him.

The boring surveillance detail had done much to worsen the situation but at least it meant that he could fester on his own for many hours of the day. Time within the garrison when he was not sleeping was minimal but his colleagues had swiftly learned to give him a wide berth.

Aramis had frequently tried to offer him words of solace and encouragement but they had fallen on deaf ears on every occasion and he had expired all known platitudes so that now he too simply glowered at anyone who came near.

D'Artagnan attempted to be positive for as long as he could but it was growing harder by the day. The air of pessimism was all-pervading and it was bombarding him from every side, from Porthos, Aramis and Captain Treville, so that even he was bowing under the weight of worry for their friend.

But it was a new day and he had resolved to be optimistic, hence his comment, but it was woefully idealistic and the doubts did not just creep in but suddenly overwhelmed him like a torrent.

Athos could have been attacked by robbers at any point on his journey and left for dead in a ditch. He may have succumbed to illness rife within a village where he had sought shelter from torrential rain. Out of the goodness of his heart, he could have stopped to offer assistance to a traveller on the road whose carriage had lost a wheel and, working to replace it, the axle had snapped and the whole thing collapsed, trapping Athos beneath it and crushing his chest.

An ageing tree could have toppled just as he was passing, unseating him so that, terrified, his mount galloped away in the gathering darkness and he lay on the road unconscious or, at best, hobbled with a makeshift staff on a damaged ankle. A violent storm could have weakened a bridge so that the added weight of him and his horse proved too much and hurled both helplessly into the turbulent waters below. When he had exhausted Serge's rations, he may have purchased food from a disreputable tavern owner who had disguised rancid meat with herbs so that, unsuspecting, a ravenous Athos had emptied a plate before he realised that the meal was tainted and even now, he could be writhing in agony in a rat-infested room in the throes of severe food-poisoning ...

"Are you quite well?" an anxious voice broke into his thoughts and he realised that he had come to a complete halt at the top of the stairs. He held the wooden balustrade so tightly in horror at the plethora of disasters that might have befallen his friend that his knuckles were white. It was high time he curbed his over-active imagination.

Aramis was watching him quizzically whilst Porthos, who was already at the Captain's door, looked furiously impatient.

"I am sorry," the young Gascon hastily apologised. "I am fine, thank you."

"Just as well," Porthos growled as he hammered with unnecessary vehemence upon the door. "It's enough wondering what Athos is getting up to without havin' to worry about you too."

"Oh you don't have to worry about me ..." d'Artagnan began but was cut off by the Captain's roar which came from the other side of the door, ordering them to enter.

"He's in a good mood too," Aramis muttered as he followed Porthos inside with d'Artagnan trailing behind.

The three stood before him as he concluded reading a message he had received; it was from Richelieu at the palace. Treville slammed it down onto the desk top and looked up at the three.

"Well that confirms it. Gaston is heading for Paris and is expected to arrive some time tomorrow," he announced.

"Convenient," Aramis observed. "I mean his being in Paris just when the meeting takes place elsewhere."

"My thoughts exactly. I suspect that it is only for appearance's sake though. I don't trust him and am convinced that he is capable of anything, including having some prior connection with the plotters."

"What did he do that upset the King so much?" d'Artagnan asked, his gaze flitting between the four men as he sought an explanation. His recent arrival in Paris and his years in Gascony meant that he had little knowledge of what had transpired in the royal household.

"What hasn't he done?" Aramis scoffed. "I may not like Richelieu but I do think he has as much reason as Louis to despise Gaston."

"The little rat!" Porthos added his opinion.

"Four years ago, Louis' mother, Marie de Medicis, together with Richelieu, were trying to force Gaston to marry Marie de Bourbon-Montpensier," Treville began. "Several nobles persuaded him to resist the marriage and there was a plot formed to assassinate the Cardinal. Amongst them were the Duchesse de Chevreuse and her lover, the Marquis de Chalais."

"Louis' mother is also quite a character," Aramis added. "She tried to take power herself from Louis."

"Or keep it," Treville corrected. "Louis was only nine when his father was killed and she ran the country until he was old enough. She was a little reluctant to hand over responsibility when the time came."

"Some family!" Porthos was dismissive.

"Anyway," the Captain continued, "Richelieu discovered the plot and had Chalais beheaded but he could do nothing about Gaston as Louis' heir."

"So he got away with it!" d'Artagnan was surprised.

"More or less," Porthos agreed.

"He changed his mind and went through with the marriage, though, in the August of that year; already Duc d'Anjou, he was created Duc d'Orleans by Louis."

"A rich reward," Aramis added.

"More like bribery," Porthos was cynical.

"Granted, Louis personally saw all the actions as a move against him and his position, and I think he was prepared to do anything to keep Gaston contained," Treville said.

"So will he be bringing his wife and a large retinue?" d'Artagnan went on, referring to the Duc.

Treville shook his head. "He's widowed. The Duchess died in childbirth nine months after the wedding."

"And the two brothers never reconciled?"

"Not properly, d'Artagnan. You must understand that Louis has a deep seated mistrust where both his mother and brother are concerned and, as I've just explained, with good reason. News of Gaston and the nobles has greatly unsettled the King." Treville clapped his hands together as if concluding that topic. "Now, gentlemen, what do you have to report on the subjects of your surveillance?"


	23. Chapter 23

Greetings from San Diego.

Oh my, what an incredible journey yesterday across the Mohave Desert, lunch in Palm Springs and then over the mountains and down ... into traffic. Have paid a King's ransom for a reliable internet connection over the next few days so be prepared for a chapter per day for 5 days!

Fo those of you concerned about Athos, I have spent a long time deliberating on how I do this and I know he is 'out of the picture' at the moment. In the past few days, I have considered weakening and writing a sort of interlude CHAPTER to see what he's up to but decided against it. You, the readers, need to learn things as the others do for (my only spoiler alert) for maximum impact. I promise that once he reappears, he will be there the whole time and we WILL find out what has happened in Troyes. For now, there is a little more setting up to do and I just have to hope that you are not disappointed. This CHAPTER contains a little more 'setting up' and all will be revealed soon.

CHAPTER 23

"I have been following mine for three days," Aramis was the first to make his report. "Antoine Fornier has remained at the court and made himself very conspicuous. He's definitely a ladies' man and flirts outrageously."

Porthos snorted with suppressed laughter. "Good job you're the one that's watchin' him then. He can't be teachin' you anythin' new an' we wouldn't want 'im corrupting young d'Artagnan here."

The young man in question was embarrassed even as Treville smothered a grin at the apt comment and Aramis protested loudly.

"Anyway ," Aramis said loudly and slowly, endeavouring to restore some order and regain attention for his news, "he slips from his rooms each night and heads for a different destination and assignation. I remained outside one all night the first time but he didn't leave until dawn." He glared at Porthos who had just opened his mouth to speak. "And don't you dare utter another word!"

"In contrast," he continued, "Lazare Tanquerel is quiet, reserved and keeps very much to himself, interacting very little with anyone else." He grew serious. "He positions himself in a room so that he can watch the royal couple constantly."

"Sounds suspicious," Treville acknowledged. "We'll maintain a close watch on him. What about the two you were assigned, d'Artagnan?"

"I think we can cross Charles Basot from the list. The court physician has attended him in the past few days as he has developed a severe case of gout and is finding it difficult to move around so he is confined to his rooms."

"No visitors?" Treville pressed.

"Other than the physician, no. I asked some discreet questions but two people confirmed that he is in such pain as to be immobile. His wife, on the other hand, is making the most of his incapacity and enjoying herself very publicly. So I concentrated upon Georges de Thou. He's young, a little older than me and tends to spend his time with similar young men. They're fairly quiet and good during daylight hours, not wanting to put a foot wrong, but after dark is another matter. They're revellers until the small hours."

"There's nothing to suggest that they might be like-minded in a conspiracy?" Treville wanted to know.

D'Artagnan cast sideways glances at his friends. "The only conspiracy they seem to be joined in is how much rich food they can eat or throw at each other, the amount of good wine they can drink and the number of wenches they can fondle during an evening."

"See, I knew I should have taken de Thou!" Porthos objected. "Now all my attempts at keeping d'Artagnan young and innocent have failed."

D'Artagnan's thoughts strayed to an unexpected night of passion he spent in the arms of a dark-haired, green-eyed mystery woman when on his way to Paris and he flushed.

"I think d'Artagnan is not so innocent as he would have us believe," Aramis grinned, noting the young man's change in colour.

"Enough," Treville scolded, but there was no anger there. D'Artagnan shot him an appreciative look at halting the teasing. "Go on, Porthos, and stick to the point."

"I don't think Gilles de Mayenne is capable of anything," he said dismissively. "All he does is eat all day."

At this, Aramis chuckled and was about to retaliate with a veiled insult of his own but Treville's look stopped him, so he cleared his throat instead, fought to control his facial expression and focused intently upon Porthos.

"I've never seen anyone eat the amount he can put away at one sittin' an' then, a couple of hours later if that, he's back for more! Except he doesn't 'come back', 'e just stays where he is at a table, barks an order when he's good an' ready an' the food's put down in front of 'im. He doesn't move because 'e probably can't; he's huge!"

Aramis raised an eyebrow at the perceived exaggeration.

"It's true," Porthos remonstrated. "He's bigger than me, an' I'm not talkin' about his height."

The two men standing with him laughed whilst the Captain referred to the list in front of him. "He may be obese but that doesn't stop him conferring with plotters. Did you see him talk to anyone?"

Porthos shook his head. "Only the servants. His table manners leave a lot to be desired and if you could have seen the way some people looked at 'im as they walked by, none of them would have sat with 'im to pass the time of day."

"That's sad," d'Artagnan added. "Perhaps he eats so much for comfort; he's lonely."

Porthos and Aramis turned their heads to where he stood between them and gave him a strange look.

"And what of Francois Allaire?" Treville was trying to keep them focused.

"Now he's an interestin' one," Porthos said, all business-like once more. "He's loud an' obnoxious; full of his own importance an' a ridiculous figure. I don't think he's liked much by the other courtiers an' when they're in groups, he seems to attach 'imself to 'em an' take over. They're just too polite to tell 'im to go away but I've seen them when he does decide to move on and they're talkin' about him. I sort of moved closer to one group an' overheard someone say that they wouldn't trust him at all, that he was a trouble maker."

"What sort of trouble?" Treville's interest was aroused.

"They wouldn't say anymore but the others were in agreement. So I watched 'im even more closely an' there was somethin' about 'im that was wrong; I just had a bad feelin'. He'd wear one expression when talkin' to the courtiers an' then, as he walked away, a change'd come over him, as if he detested them all, they were beneath 'im somehow an' he's always givin' a sly look around to see if anyone's watchin' him."

"Has he realised that you are?" Treville was concerned.

Porthos' anger simmered at the memory. "He's looked straight at me a couple of times but I'm not even the dirt on his shoes, given that I'm a soldier and because of my birth."

They all knew that he was referring to his skin colour and they felt for him. Knowing the man as they did, they wanted to protect him from those who still bore prejudice of any kind.

"An' anyway," Porthos suddenly looked sheepish, "I have to confess I lost 'im for a good hour or more yesterday."

"How so?" Treville demanded.

"I was standing to the side of one of the main reception rooms; they were both there, Allaire an' de Mayenne an' I had 'em both in sight. Well suddenly there's an almighty crash, a squawk and chaos. Seems like de Mayenne's chair couldn't take 'is weight anymore an' collapsed underneath 'im. It had arms an' although the legs had completely broken off, he was wedged solidly in the seat. Several servants rushed to help whilst the rest of 'em – the courtiers - just stood there. Some had the decency to smother their laughs but a few were not so kind."

"Poor man," d'Artagnan said, his concern genuine.

Aramis and the Captain both looked equally perturbed by the tale; it would be a talking point within the court for several days to come and it would be at de Mayenne's expense. Apparently already despised and ridiculed by many because of his size and habits, he would have lost all face with this incident. A number of those who followed the King could be fickle at best and cruel at worst, which was often. They were there to be seen and heard, to gain advantage from Louis and when they were not as successful as they expected, their loyalty turned, as Treville and the others were investigating at that time.

"Anyway, I went over to help an', with some effort, broke one of the arms off so we could roll 'im out an' then onto the floor. Took three servants an' me to get 'im to his feet and recoverin'. By that time, Allaire had slipped away. I set off through the corridors, takin' all the routes he'd used so far and then some more, but I couldn't find 'im at all. He hadn't returned to his rooms because I asked a servant in that area."

"Perhaps he deserves more of our attention," Treville noted and, as the three watched, he picked up his quill and made a large mark by Allaire's name.


	24. Chapter 24

Morning, I did promise daily updates for a few days at least. Thank you again to readers and reviewers.

Tension mounts at the royal court when an unpopular visitor arrives!

CHAPTER 24

"Day nine," Porthos whispered from the side of his mouth as he stood to attention in the King's throne room with his friends, Treville and several other Musketeers. They constituted more than the usual number for a reception duty but Louis had demanded a show of strength to convey a silent message of warning to Gaston. He was not to think that he could attempt some nefarious business. A messenger had arrived ahead of the Duc to inform the King that his brother had reached the outskirts of Paris and would be attending upon him shortly.

Richelieu, his face dark at the prospect of again seeing the man who had once wanted him assassinated, stood to the right of the two empty thrones, ready to send for Their Majesties as soon as the Duc's entourage reached the palace. It was not becoming of their royal personages to sit and wait; Gaston would be expected to wait for them. Treville and his guard detail, more of whom extended throughout the palace, had been in place for an hour or more already and suspected that the King would delay appearing for as long as possible.

"Stop that!" Aramis hissed, eyes firmly fixed straight ahead. "You're doing that every day, counting them."

"An' I'll continue to count 'em until we have Athos back with us safe an' sound. It's a reminder to me an' you just how long he's been gone."

"I don't need reminding," Aramis bit back irritably. "I am well aware every minute of every day just how long he's been gone and how much longer we have to wait before we can head off after him – if necessary."

A figure appeared in their peripheral vision.

"A problem, gentlemen?"

Treville. He had heard their mutterings.

Aramis allowed his eyes to swivel sideways to look directly at the officer.

"No, Captain."

Treville frowned. "I appreciate that you are both worried about Athos, gentlemen, but now is neither the time nor the place. We have more pressing issues that demand our attention." A sudden increase in volume outside the doors of the throne room indicated that something was happening. Treville sighed. "And I think that pressing issue has just arrived!"

The doors opened and a disembodied voice made the formal announcement. "Monsieur Gaston, Duc d'Orleans." There was no implied insult. Gaston was not referred to as a prince but by the royal 'Monsieur' as the King's younger brother.

Gaston swept through the opening, some four attendants in tow, and crossed half the room in quick, easy strides. He was resplendently attired in a navy blue and white doublet and breeches, edged with a filigree stitching in silver. A cape in silver grey was worn over one shoulder and tied beneath the opposite armpit. His matching hat was used to exacerbate his arm gesture in a deliberate, low bow. As he kept his eyes firmly on the floor in a show of humility – real or fake - clumps of frizzy, curling hair fell about his face.

"Greetings, Your Majesty, my brother. I thank you for receiving me and am relieved to find you in good health," he said, his voice thin and resembling a boy's.

Shorter than Louis and significantly more so than most of the Musketeers within the room, he cut a deceptive, waif-like figure. It was hard to believe that so much mischief could be wrapped in such a small frame.

Louis stared at him as if he had never seen him before but the Queen leaned towards him and whispered in his ear. Whatever her message, it galvanised the King who leaped to his feet in exaggerated bonhomie and moved to greet the man.

"Gaston, my dear brother," he began, arms outstretched to engulf his younger sibling, who was forced to reciprocate. "It has been too long but you needn't have troubled yourself by coming in person to see that I am well. A simple letter would have sufficed."

"First hit to the King," Aramis muttered.

Once released from the royal embrace, it was clear to all from Gaston's flushed face that he had not missed the barb within the comment.

"Forgive me, brother. I am not known for being a reliable correspondent," he said by way of excuse.

Louis continued to smile but there was no warmth in his eyes. "Really? I am sure that you maintain communication with some."

"Hit two," whispered Porthos.

Richelieu cleared his throat and stepped forward wanting to prevent the King from saying too much that might warn Gaston.

"If I may, Your Majesty ..." he let his words trail off as Louis resumed his seat and airily waved a hand for him to continue. He had said all that he wanted to his younger brother for the time being; now someone else could take over and who better than his First Minister?

"Richelieu," Gaston said by way of greeting. "You are still in your eminent position, I see." His sarcasm was unmistakable.

The Cardinal winced but would not be deterred as his head dipped slightly in deference.

"But of course, Your Grace. I am unlikely to be elsewhere," Richelieu countered.

"Loving this," Porthos said quietly. "Can't believe I'm wantin' the Cardinal to win."

"And I can't believe you just said that," Aramis added.

"Whilst I can't believe I have to keep reminding the pair of you to stop talking," Treville commented as he walked past them to take up a position closer to the dais so that he had a better view of Gaston.

"His Majesty is a little surprised by this visit, Your Grace, and wonders if there is anything specific that has occasioned it," Richelieu continued.

"Thank you, Richelieu," Gaston replied haughtily, "but I am sure that my brother is more than capable of speaking for himself," and he turned slightly so that he was, in effect, ignoring the Cardinal as he focused his attention upon the King.

"I know that we did not part on good terms the last time we saw each other," he began.

Louis huffed loudly at the understatement and rolled his eyes.

"But I am sorry and wish to make amends. As a gesture towards reconciliation, I am here on business that is very personal to your Majesty."

Louis sighed in affectation; he wanted Gaston to know that he was merely being tolerated at best.

"You may speak," he instructed but Gaston looked around him guardedly at the few courtiers who had been admitted for his reception.

"I would prefer a private audience with Your Majesty for reasons that will become very clear but perhaps the Cardinal would like to be in attendance?" Gaston offered.

The King and First Minister shared a glance; a silent communication confirming that Gaston would be granted his request.

Louis rose to his feet. "We will retire to the next room but Captain Tréville will also join us." He looked pointedly beyond Gaston to the men who had accompanied him. "Your people can remain here."

As Louis left the room, those gathered – courtiers, Musketeers and servants -bowed low.


	25. Chapter 25

Greetings, all.

I am enjoying these daily updates. I just need to write a bit faster! Have started Friday's chapter but have more than that planned. Somehow, other things keep getting in the way ie adventures! I do start my journey home three weeks today though. I cannot believe where the time has gone when I look back at all that I have done, the places I have been and the people I have met.

Thank you to yesterday's readers and reviewers. I do love to hear your thoughts.

So, what is Gaston up to? The plot thickens...

CHAPTER 25

Louis led the small group through to the adjoining library. A magnificent, long room, it was lined from floor to ceiling with leather-bound books, an upper level accessible by a corner staircase. Sunlight streamed through the windows.

Tréville always loved this room. Not an avid reader himself – apart from occasional volumes on military strategy, historic campaigns and the lives of great leaders – he could still appreciate the sight and value of the book-lined shelves, their diversity of colour and size, the smell of the leather, and wonder at the knowledge and stories contained therein.

He had sometimes caught Athos' attention wandering to gaze at those same shelves and saw the expression on his face, a wistfulness, a longing perhaps, and he knew his lieutenant would have easily been lost within the pages of a volume of poetry or other literature as well as history, if he had been given the opportunity.

The Captain glanced at the King and wondered if he ever bothered to look at any of those precious books and decided that it was highly unlikely. So much pleasure sitting there unused within this room, not that it would ever be given the chance to gather dust for the servants would see to that.

"So what is of the utmost importance and secrecy that you have to speak to me apart from my courtiers?" Louis demanded, rounding on Gaston, his arms folded across his body in a gesture of ... what? Defiance or self-protection? Treville could not decide.

"I have learned of a group of nobles who are meeting south of here near Troyes tomorrow and I believe that their intention is to act against Your Majesty's person." Gaston remained devoid of facial expression as he delivered his news.

Louis' eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And how have you come by this information?"

"If you must know, they approached me to join them."

Treville and Richelieu shared concerned glances at such an admission. What game was Gaston playing?

"They were, of course, aware of our ..." He hesitated. "Our past differences and presumed erroneously that I would be interested in forming an alliance with them."

Treville inhaled a deep breath, holding it as he awaited the King's reaction to this unexpectedly brutal honesty.

"And their presumption is erroneous how?" Louis demanded.

Gaston sighed. "You have every reason to doubt me, brother, after what happened in the past, but I come here in good faith to offer an olive branch, if you will. I do not want an argument and hatred to exist between us. We are family. I thought that if I came here with news of a plot against you, you would see it as a sign of my reformed character and my desire for us to be reconciled."

Oh, but he was good, convincing, and Treville did not believe a word, nor did the Cardinal if his expression was any indication.

One question remained though. Did Louis believe him? There was a distinct wavering in his manner; Treville recognised the signs.

"What do you know of this plot then?" Louis was determined to hear more before he decided anything.

"It has been instigated by Guillaume Menier, a vicomte from an estate to the south-west of Troyes. He came to see me in person and was very circumspect about who else was involved. However, he was very blunt about what he wanted; he was looking for financial support or men."

"Did he give any reason for this proposed insurrection?" Richelieu demanded.

Gaston was dismissive. "The usual. Crippling taxes ..." He broke off when he saw Louis' mounting fury and hastened to reassure him. "Oh, _his _words, not mine. Then he started on about not being able to expand his estate because of crown lands being so extensive in the area. He had some other grumbles too but they seemed trivial to me."

"Important enough for him to consider acting against the King " Tréville pointed out. "And other like-minded men apparently. What is immaterial to some can be a massive obstacle to others resulting in unrest."

Gaston dipped his head. "Naturally I accept your logic, Captain. However, it was insufficient cause for me to accept – even if I had wanted to."

There was enough of a pause before his correction for Tréville to raise an eyebrow and the Cardinal seemed to have noticed it too!

Gaston visibly brightened. "But then that gave me a wonderful idea. I would _pretend_to go along with what he wanted, make some vague reassurance, find out what he and his colleagues are up to and then reveal everything to you."

Louis looked towards Richelieu for guidance, as did Tréville. Were they going to admit their foreknowledge of the conspiracy?

"But if you are here and the meeting is somewhere else tomorrow, then what can you hope to learn to our benefit?" Richelieu said slowly.

Gaston looked positively smug. "I offered some financial aid and told Menier that I would come to Paris ostensibly to make restoration with my brother – but I mean it for real," he added hastily, speaking directly to Louis. "Menier thinks that I am here gathering information that I can feed back to him."

"What sort of information would that be?" Richelieu asked casually.

Gaston shrugged, "Anything, I suppose. Security within the palace. Forthcoming plans of Your Majesty – I know you usually head to Versailles this month. There would be useful details there. The Cardinal and the Captain could deliberately make up information for me to pass on, they would be so much better at it than I. It would lead Menier astray. What fun that would be!"

From their expressions at the comment, Richelieu and Treville would find it anything but fun.

Thinking about it, Treville nodded to the Cardinal. There was a possibility in that idea; they could feed Gaston erroneous information but they would have to conceal the true details. The Duc was a little too well-informed about Louis' annual visit to the hunting lodge at Versailles. Granted he went at other times too but they tended to vary, dependent upon the King's whim, but this visit was a specific event on the royal calendar.

"You still have not explained why you are not at such an important meeting in Troyes," Richelieu pushed. "Surely details from that would be of significant importance in the protection of His Majesty and identifying those involved."

"Simple," Gaston said, his tone implying that the Cardinal had asked a ridiculous question. "I cannot be in two places at the same time and it was important to make peace with Louis."

The King noticeably bristled. He was not yet ready to forgive Gaston enough to be back on first name terms.

"So," Gaston continued, "I have sent a representative to the meeting. He has my authority to make certain concessions – well, to declare them at least. I have no intention of seeing them through but I have to look as though I am genuine. I gave him a letter of introduction and explained why I am not there in person."

"Who is your insider?" Richelieu wanted to know.

Gaston gave a humourless smile. "Come now, Cardinal. I would not expect you to divulge the identity of your agents and spies – I expect you have many."

"What I mean is will he be accepted by the nobles, even with your letter of introduction?" Richelieu clarified, his annoyance at the Duc increasing with each passing minute.

"Rest assured. He, too, is a noble from an old family in the Rouen area. That is as much as I am prepared to tell you; that and the fact that I trust him completely."

"Rouen? A northern estate then?" Richelieu was careful about what he said next. "With the meeting near Troyes, I would have thought that those involved would have heralded from the south of Paris. Would they accept a disgruntled northerner into their midst?"

"Oh don't worry, Cardinal. I received the impression that the nobles were from areas other than the south."

Treville frowned and chewed on his bottom lip. That was the worst news possible, as far as he was concerned. Whilst Athos could not have known every noble family in the north of France, someone from the north west might well have been familiar with the de la Fère family. The chances of Athos being recognised had just increased, however slightly.


	26. Chapter 26

Greetings.

Thought I would upload the next chapter before I head off for today's adventures!

Thank you for yesterday's comments and to all the other readers too.

So, what IS Gaston up to?

CHAPTER 26

Gaston was settling into the rooms that had been assigned to him on the opposite side of the palace from the royal apartments and had just poured himself a large claret when there was a quiet knock at the door.

The visit was expected and he had already taken pains to dismiss the servants who waited upon him so he opened the door himself.

"Did anyone see you?" he asked, turning his back on the newcomer who was left to quietly close the door whilst Gaston made himself comfortable on a tapestry chair near the fireplace. There was no fire in the grate but it gave him a commanding view of the room. His visitor was no guest and therefore was not invited to sit in the opposite chair.

"No, I was most careful," came the answer.

"So, what news do you have for me?"

"We know that your men have moved successfully through France from Orleans without raising any suspicion. It was an excellent decision on your part to divide them into much smaller units and to use a number of routes. Given when they departed, they should be in their positions in the north west around Versailles. They will only band together when they receive word. We are awaiting confirmation on their specific positions."

"Where's your partner?" Gaston demanded.

"Out meeting with his contact as we speak. I was hoping that he would have returned by the time I came to see you so he should not be long. He will have a map that confirms the positions of your men."

"And they will have re-joined into how many groups? Remind me."

"Having left Orleans in fours and fives, it would make contacting so many small units almost impossible when needed, so they were gathering into three large groups camping in woodland for concealment and avoiding any small villages or hamlets."

Gaston nodded his approval.

"I have to be prepared that my force will be the only ones upon whom I can rely. My man at that meeting will ask for more men and that will be the moment when we learn just how serious Menier and his friends are."

"Do you think they are prepared to fight?" the visitor asked.

"I would hope so; I am risking a lot here. Menier is impetuous, angry and likely to follow my lead if he thinks he is to benefit to a greater degree. But he, as with his so-called friends, are gullible fools if they really believe that I am in league with them. I will use them to my own ends and will decide what to do with them once I am in power. I am not sure how useful Menier will be. I doubt that I could trust him." Gaston gave a sly grin. "How could I when he is working behind my brother like this? No, I will probably dispense with him and some of the others when the time comes."

"What about His Majesty?"

"What about him? Louis is an even bigger fool and I think I have convinced him that I am a reformed character and on his side at last. I will work on him a little more at tonight's banquet that he is holding in my honour. By the end of the evening, I expect to have gained an invitation to the hunting at Versailles and, therefore, will remain here until that time, giving me plenty of opportunity to confirm our newly formed brotherhood to all."

Gaston's face darkened. "No, the people I really have to be concerned about are that wretched Richelieu and the Musketeer captain; they were both watching me a little too closely for comfort. They will need to be convinced."

"They have been much in each other's company of late."

"Do they not advise the King?"

"Yes, but they and certain of Treville's men have spent time in Richelieu's office and that is unusual. Those same men have been spending long periods in public rooms where we courtiers gather."

"But Treville's men are on protective duty," Gaston insisted.

"Yes, but there is usually a rotation. Do not misunderstand me, I don't spend my time studying Musketeers but when the same three seem to be around all the time, it becomes a little disconcerting."

"You're sure it is the same three?"

"Absolutely. One of them, a big man of mixed parentage, is hard to miss. Oh, he tries to blend into the background but he fails miserably. In fact ..." He was interrupted by another light knock at the door.

"Your partner?" Gaston was on edge.

The visitor nodded. "I expect so."

Gaston indicated for him to go and admit the newcomer. He was beyond opening a door twice in quick succession.

When the door had closed again, the latest visitor bowed deferentially and held up a folded document. "I have the map showing the placement of your forces," and he handed it over to the Duc.

Whilst Gaston perused it, the first visitor brought the second up to date with events that he and the Duc had discussed.

"I was just explaining that I thought some of the Musketeer activity with Richelieu was a little odd."

"Agreed," said the second. "I sensed that I was being followed at times but was unable to prove it. I was worried about getting away today to meet with my contact for that map but I suspect, Your Grace, that your arrival is keeping them occupied; it was easier than I anticipated."

"Unlike the other day," said the first, and they both laughed.

Gaston's head snapped up. "And what is so amusing about that?"

"I created a diversion," the first announced. "It is amazing what you can achieve with some deliberately weakened chair legs, appalling table manners and apparent greed. Made myself feel quite sick but it worked."

"It was very convincing," agreed the other, "and in the chaos, I slipped away."

"Very good, gentlemen," and Gaston arose, signifying that the meeting was concluded. "Keep me informed and watch those Musketeers. Now I am alerted to your suspicions, I shall be vigilant myself. Do you think Richelieu and the Captain know anything of the plot?"

"I am not sure," admitted the second man. "They could simply be preparing for the move to Versailles and ascertaining that those invited by the King are worthy of that privilege."

The first man laughed again, "I doubt that I would be on the list. His Majesty would be worried that I would cost too much to feed!"

"We will all be on our guard," Gaston decided. "And now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have a banquet to attend."

Alone again, Gaston searched for a place where he could secrete the map. Aware that Treville and Richelieu did not trust him, he would not put it past either of them to have his rooms searched in his absence. A lengthy, formal banquet would give them ample time to look for anything that might incriminate him.

He had been so careful about what he had brought with him and certainly nothing that might link him with the faction of nobility. All that was relevant had been committed to memory but the existence of this map, if found in his possession, would be his undoing.

He opened drawers and cupboards where his belongings had been unpacked by the servants but decided the risk was too great. Anyone searching would know it was his if found in his possessions or a servant, loyal to the King, might accidentally find it and hand it over.

There was an ornately painted writing bureau before the window and he rapidly went through it, convinced that there had to be some place that he could use here. It might even have a secret compartment; the one he owned certainly did. Pulling out several small drawers in the top, he noticed that one was not as deep as the others.

With a grunt, he drew it out. It did not come easily and made a surprising noise but there was a shallow compartment behind it, more than enough to conceal the map.

It was some ten minutes after he had vacated the room that there was an audible click and a long panel in the corner of the room eased open.

Milady slipped into the room, convinced that Gaston would not be returning for anything he might have forgotten. Richelieu had been responsible for the Duc being given this suite so that a person might have access via a system of narrow passages within the walls.

One could never be sure when one needed to scrutinise a guest more closely!

Whilst there had been no spyholes into this particular chamber – she might suggest that to the Cardinal – she had heard the entire conversation and believed that she had learned enough to identify the Duc's two visitors.

She had also heard his subsequent search for a place of concealment and guessed correctly that it was for the map he had just received. Surveying the room, noting where the various pieces of furniture were positioned and the proximity to her when he had at last decided upon a hiding place, she went straight to the bureau.

It took several attempts at pulling on the various drawers until she recognised the distinct noise she had heard from her secret position.

"Not very clever," she announced to no-one as she removed the drawer, took out the map, put it in a pocket and replaced the drawer.

With one last look around the lavish room and satisfied that Gaston could not report the theft of the document when he discovered it missing, she disappeared the way she had come.


	27. Chapter 27

Greetings from San Diego. I LOVE this city (but NOT the traffic. Glad I am not doing the driving each day!)

Thanks once again for all the readers and reviewers. Mmm, I suspect that there is a barrowful of revenge from different angles. Even Trevillle seems consumed by the need for justice (revenge?) as far as his men - especially Athos - are concerned and he is obsessed by the mystery lady and her involvement ...

(I'd better hurry up and finish chapter 29!)

CHAPTER 27

Mid-evening on the ninth day and the banquet was still very much in progress. They were reaching the end of the fourth of eight planned courses and those invited kept a very watchful eye on the people at the top table, taking the cue from them as to how successful the evening was and consequently how much they could relax and enjoy themselves.

Tréville found it ironic that those under surveillance were, in turn, studying some of the very people who were watching them!

On a raised dais, Louis sat in the centre with Gaston on his right as the 'honoured guest'. The Queen was to his left and beyond her sat Richelieu and Tréville . An invitation to the Captain to dine with the King was infrequent but not unheard of and he had taken pains to be at his best in his appearance. It was a little galling to find himself placed next to the Cardinal and he baulked at making polite conversation with the man for the whole of the evening. He wondered at his exalted position close to the King when three of the highest ranking nobles in the land were to his left whilst two more, along with their wives, were the other side of the Duc.

It did not take him long to realise why. Louis wanted Richelieu and him close for reassurance and security, although from his seat, Tréville could not hear any of the conversation that transpired between the King and his brother, but at least they were talking to each other and most animatedly at times. Two of the titled aristocracy at the top table were on the list, albeit in the middle.

As he surveyed the room and the four long tables that were at right angles to the dais, he saw where other suspects had been seated. Protocol had to be observed as far as possible and people appropriately positioned according to their rank; he and the Cardinal did not want certain individuals alerted to a possible fall from favour in the King's eyes so although Louis wanted them kept at bay, they were not designated places at the bottom of the tables. They were separated as far as possible though to make conversation difficult, if not impossible.

An overly cautious gesture, Tréville thought. Just as he and the Cardinal could not openly discuss aspects of the current security at the banqueting table, so the suspects could hardly debate the finer points of insurrection so publicly but, he speculated, they could arrange meetings for another time.

There was an advantage to the seating arrangements then. It would be obvious if any of them gravitated towards each other in the lull between courses or if they stepped outside to take the evening air. It was a very warm summer evening and the banqueting hall was hot with so many people present, the atmosphere not helped by the conflicting perfumes worn by the vast majority of those gathered.

He glanced around to where his men were surreptitiously positioned, backs tight to the wall so that they were not in the way of those serving the food, yet facing inwardly to the guests. They had perfected the art of fading into the background, as still as statues and yet totally alert. Catching the eye of first Aramis and then Porthos, he nodded. Banquet or not, he would need to make his rounds at some point. Perhaps after the next course ...

"Your seating plan?" he casually asked the Cardinal.

"But of course," Richelieu answered, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with an embroidered napkin. "They're all here, those on the Paris list."

"So I see," Tréville responded, keeping his voice low.

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger who stood behind the Cardinal's right shoulder, bent slightly to whisper something in his ear and then handed him a folded paper.

Richelieu dismissed him with a wave of the hand and read the message, careful to keep its contents from Tréville.

Frowning, he pushed back from the table and stood.

"My apologies to Your Majesties but I hope you will excuse me. I must attend to something."

"My dear Cardinal," the Queen began, her blue eyes clouding with concern. "Nothing serious, I hope."

He smiled solicitously. "No major affairs of state, I assure you, Your Majesty, but something I cannot ignore. I do not anticipate that it will detain me for long though."

"I hope not," and the Queen flashed one of her beautiful, winsome smiles towards Tréville "The Captain and I will pass the time together until your return."

"Indeed we will, Your Majesty," Tréville agreed happily. It was no burden to talk with this gentle, articulate and well-educated young woman. He looked directly at Richelieu. "That is, of course, as long as the Cardinal does not require my company."

"No, no, not at all, Tréville. It is nothing to concern yourself about. You must remain and entertain Her Majesty."

He waited for a nod from Louis that his absence from the table was acceptable and then he was gone.

Tréville did his best to converse with the Queen but he was distracted, wondering what had taken the Cardinal from the room and eventually he, too, was making his apologies, excusing himself by saying that he needed to make a circuit of his men stationed in the room and within the palace at large to ensure all was well.

"If your trusty lieutenant had been here, you could have delegated that responsibility to him," Ann said, reminding Tréville that the Queen was informed of much of what was happening regarding the conspiracy. "You have not heard from him?"

Tréville shook his head.

"That is to the good then. He is about the business to which you have assigned him. He is a brave man and fully competent for the task, I am sure of it but I keep him in my prayers daily for his safe return is important to us all, is it not?" Her gaze drifted past him to where Aramis and Porthos were standing.

Tréville nodded. "It is indeed, Your Majesty. The information we await from him is vital. I am touched that you would remember one of my men and grateful for your concern; I am sure that Athos would feel the same were he to know."

She leaned a little towards the Musketeer. "But he will never know, will he, Captain?"

"He will not hear it from my lips, Your Majesty," Tréville promised. That did not stop him telling the others so that they might impart that news. "Now, if you will excuse me ..."

"Of course, Captain," and, sighing, she glanced sideways to where Louis was deep in conversation with Gaston and completely ignoring her. "We all have our respective duties to fulfil."

He moved around the hall, asking a quick question of each of his men, including Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, but it was clear that all was well. It was a partial ruse to leave the banquet. He wanted to be seen doing his job – and it had been his intention to circulate amongst those on guard throughout the palace – but his suspicious mind was at work once more and he was wondering what had been so important that Richelieu had to leave the banquet. What could be taking him so long?

It was as he approached the Cardinal's office that one of the doors opened. Expecting it to be Richelieu, he flattened himself out of sight in a recessed doorway, not wanting to have to explain himself to the First Minister as to why he had followed him. There were no Musketeers in the vicinity who might give rise to his presence.

Taking a risk, he edged his head around the wall in time to see someone close the office door and go down the corridor that led away from the office to the left.

It was a woman, dark-haired and expensively dressed.

It was her - the mystery woman. It had to be.

Tréville did not hesitate. Were Richelieu to leave his office now, he would see the Captain coming straight towards him but, as he reached the end of the corridor outside the Cardinal's room, Tréville went left, just in time to see the dark skirts round another corner and disappear.

There were burning questions that he had for this woman.

Tréville followed.


	28. Chapter 28

Morning all.

Thank you for reading and commenting upon the last chapter. Things are definitely escalating now!

Chapter 29 will be posted tomorrow but then I am back to erratic internet for two weeks. At the end of that, I will be back in the UK so I will definitely 'see' you then!

CHAPTER 28

Tréville was angry, very angry.

He had chased after the woman, even calling out and ordering her to halt. He knew that she had heard him from her body language; there had been a split-second pause but she had not turned. Despite her cumbersome gown, she moved quickly and had a worrying knowledge of the palace that rivalled that of the Captain. It was incumbent upon him to be familiar with the royal building so that he could instil strong security measures but even so, he lost her. He retraced his steps, tried different corridors, searched some rooms and rattled door handles of others to ensure that they were locked.

She had disappeared.

In frustration, he punched the wall and immediately regretted it as pain exploded through his fist. He held his knuckles to his mouth and sucked on the coppery taste of blood. The damage to himself – or the wall – was not significant but would cause him some discomfort over the coming days as he worked for he was right-handed.

It seemed that nothing was going right at this moment. Richelieu was doing his best to goad him at every encounter when they desperately needed to work consistently together. There was the conspiracy to the south that was likely to impact upon them very soon and now Gaston had arrived, pleading love and loyalty. Instinct warned Tréville not to believe him but, not for the first time, he lacked the evidence to support that same instinct.

Footsteps were approaching along a corridor that joined the one where he was standing and, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, he stood tall awaiting the newcomer.

Aramis.

The Musketeer sighed with relief. "There you are, Captain. I've been looking for you. The Cardinal sent word to the banquet that he needed you to join him immediately. He said something of vital importance had just been delivered to him."

"No doubt delivered by his mysterious female agent," Tréville said bitterly, shaking out his smarting fist.

Aramis' brow furrowed in concern. "What have you done to your hand?" When he attempted to inspect it more closely, Tréville held it out of his reach.

"I foolishly picked a fight with the wall and the wall won," he admitted sheepishly. "I only have myself to blame."

The two men fell into an easy stride alongside each other as they made their way back through the corridors towards Richelieu's office.

"What makes you think the mystery woman visited the Cardinal?" Aramis asked, remembering what the Captain had said.

"I saw a woman answering her description leaving his office," Tréville explained. "At least, she was dark-haired and wearing expensive clothing. I did not see if her eyes were green. What bothers me is how well she knows this place," and he went on to tell Aramis how she had eventually given him the slip despite his best efforts.

By this time, they had arrived outside the Cardinal's office.

"Are you sure you don't want me to look at that hand?" Aramis pressed worriedly.

Tréville shook his head. "Far be it from me to keep the Cardinal waiting. You'd better return to the banquet to make sure that Louis and Gaston are not at each other's throats in our absence."

He waited until Aramis had gone from sight and then he threw open the door to Richelieu's office without knocking to find the Cardinal sitting at his desk studying something, which he hastily tried to conceal at the sudden interruption.

"Oh it's you," he said testily, producing the paper again from beneath the pile of documents where he had attempted to push it. "Sit down, man. I have news and something to show you."

"Just delivered by your mysterious female agent, I presume," Treville declared.

Richelieu's brow furrowed as he looked at the Musketeer officer properly. He was breathing hard as if he had been running and it was hard to tell if the redness in his face was due to his exertion or extreme anger – or, in fact, a mixture of both.

"As a matter of fact, she did bring it."

There was obviously no point in denying her existence any further, although Richelieu could not fathom Treville's obsession with her ... unless he harboured suspicions that she was associated with Athos in some way or that he had an inkling regarding her involvement in the debacle surrounding the treaty with the Spanish. Could Treville have found out anything that linked her to the attack upon the three musketeers that included Athos?

Or did he suspect her part in the accusations of murder and robbery levelled against the lieutenant in recent weeks? Treville had made sure Richelieu knew he was looking for the person or persons who had created the false allegations and the Cardinal had known the Captain long enough to know that once he got an idea into his head, he was not one who would let go that easily.

Treville was looking for some sort of justice for his Musketeer, of that Richelieu was sure, but he did not think the officer was a man hell bent on plain revenge.

"Who is she?" Even as he asked the question, Treville knew that he was not going to be given any satisfactory answer and so he attempted to assume an air of nonchalance.

"You seriously do not expect me to give you any information about my agent!" Richelieu countered. "Her anonymity is what keeps her safe and invaluable. You need not concern yourself with her. She has been in my employment long enough that I trust the reliability of her information. For now, there are far more important matters that require our attention."

Before Treville could object, the Cardinal moved the document into full view and tapped it fiercely with his forefinger.

"This map was delivered to Gaston earlier this evening by two men. It shows the position of the Duc's men who have already made their way unhindered through France and taken up positions around Versailles."

Treville sank, aghast, into the chair the Cardinal had indicated and pulled the map towards him to look it.

"How did Gaston manage it? What are his numbers?"

The Cardinal repeated what Milady had overheard.

"And his force, once united, could be swelled by those provided by the other nobles," Treville summarised grimly. "Musketeers and Red Guard combined might not be enough to protect the King. This could escalate into a civil war."

"That is, I hope, the worst possible outcome," Richelieu noted, "because we do not have the time to send word through France for military assistance. As of now, we have no idea whom we can trust amongst the aristocracy and we cannot alert the conspirators by speaking to anyone who then makes a careless comment." His eyes narrowed. "It is even more important that your man gets the information back to us as soon as that meeting is over. We have a little over two weeks before Louis plans to go to Versailles."

"Surely Louis will cancel his plans once we tell him of Gaston's involvement!" Treville was shocked.

"This may be what we need to persuade him but you know what he is like; he may very well insist on going as a show of defiance. Either that or he will demand the immediate arrest of his brother so that those plotting are warned and disperse; we run the risk of not being able to prove their part in all this."

"But Athos will have their names; surely that will be enough?"

"Does discussing something prove intent to act?" Richelieu wondered aloud. "No, we must draw out these malcontents once and for all."

"You are going to use the King as bait to catch them." Treville protested. "I am not happy with that prospect."

"Neither am I," Richelieu admitted. "I would far prefer to find some method of apprehending the leaders of all this before the court leaves for Versaille but we seem to be having to plan for all eventualities at present."

Both men fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts at the enormity of the task ahead of them.

"When will you tell the King?" Treville asked quietly.

Richelieu snorted. "I have no intention of being the sole bearer of bad tidings. We will do it together, you and I, and we will do it tomorrow. At least let the man enjoy the banquet this evening and a good night's rest; we can shatter his hopes regarding his brother in the morning."


	29. Chapter 29

Quick upload as we pack and prepare to leave San Diego for Laughlin so I'm not sure when I'll be back. Asap I hope. What a week it has been but I do confess to being very tired!

In the meantime, things continue to gather pace!

CHAPTER 29

It was a very late night for both the Cardinal and Tréville.

First, they had to maintain the pretence of normality by returning to the banquet and reassuring the royal couple that all was well, for even Louis had recognised their lengthy absence from the table. Tréville excused himself by saying that he had checked on his men and, whilst in the process of doing that, a missive had arrived from the garrison that required his attention and an answer.

Richelieu supplied an equally plausible explanation which evidently satisfied the King for he quickly resumed his conversation with his brother. The Queen, however, was not so easily convinced and when she spoke quietly to the Cardinal, Tréville had to strain to hear the man's whispered response that all was under control.

If only it were!

Tréville, as a man of action, preferred having all things in hand, to know what was happening and what he needed to do to maintain his prime objective - that of maintaining the King's safety. Louis expected it of him and so did his men so that they could fulfil their part. All this uncertainty was leaving him with a perpetual headache.

With the conclusion of the banquet signalled by the royal couple retiring for the night, Tréville signalled for Porthos and Aramis to come to him and issued them with new orders.

"Aramis, you will follow Gaston. Conceal yourself and make sure that he has no visitors. Porthos, you will follow His Majesty and keep watch."

The soldiers exchanged curious glances.

"Do I have to conceal myself too?" Porthos asked.

Tréville thought for a moment. "Under normal circumstances, I would say not, you are a Musketeer and Musketeers guard the King."

"But?" Aramis could hear the reticence in his voice.

Tréville dropped his voice even lower so that the two men took a half step closer to hear his answer. "These are not normal circumstances. I know Musketeers are guarding the King's quarters but I need you there for a while longer, Porthos, as an extra pair of eyes. Keep your distance, do not let your colleagues know that you are there. I require you to watch for a 'watcher', anyone who might be interested in how we are guarding His Majesty."

"You think someone might be plannin' on an attack here?" Porthos asked.

Tréville chewed on his bottom lip as he considered his reply. "No, it will be at Versailles. I will tell you more when we get back to the garrison. I just want to know that all eventualities are covered and that no-one is watching to assess our patterns of guarding the royal couple. I have to get back to the Cardinal but will come and find you both when my work here is done. We will go back all together."

"And d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked.

Tréville was already walking away. "Porthos, find him quickly and tell him to stay in the main reception areas and keep an eye on any courtiers who might still be about. I think that most would have retired but you can never be sure."

Once back with Richelieu, they poured over the map that had been delivered to Gaston and revised their plans for security at Versailles in the event of their being unable to deter the King from his trip. They discussed every name on the list of suspects, what they knew of an individual's estate and the possible strength of force they might supply should the occasion arise.

Few would be able to provide a substantial number of armed men but what they could muster made for grim reading as Tréville added to and altered their notes.

A new list named those whom the two men believed could be counted upon once they knew from Athos who had attended the meeting. It meant that there would be little time to send desperate notes for assistance should the need arise. Richelieu said he would write several letters making that request and hold them in readiness, adding the names when he knew for certain who could be trusted.

"If only your agent could have identified the two men who visited Gaston," Tréville said ruefully as the two men sipped at a rich, dark wine. The Cardinal certainly had expensive tastes.

Richelieu sat thoughtfully, turning the goblet in his hands. "Apparently one man said he had caused a distraction for the other to slip away. They thought your men were watching the courtiers a little too closely."

The moment of tentative camaraderie was over and Tréville bristled at the implied criticism that the _Inseparables _had been less than subtle.

Surprisingly, Richelieu saw the reaction to the unintentional slight. He was not about to apologise but he did try to redeem himself.

"Oh, they didn't know specifically who was the object of the scrutiny but were sharp enough to realise that there had been a definite change in your guard routine."

"That's worrying," Tréville admitted, thinking of where those three Musketeers were at that moment and his instructions to them. "I don't want anything predictable in our routine at present so that the conspirators can get past us but nor did I want to alert them."

"From here on, we must be prepared for the fact that they are as aware of us as we are of them."

Tréville groaned. "Another complication."

The Cardinal allowed himself a wry smile. "But we will rise to the challenge and outmanoeuvre them. After all, they do not know what or how much we know."

"Which is very little at present," the Captain added.

They sat in a strangely companionable silence, two men with a grudging respect for each other despite their dislike.

"What was that distraction?" Tréville asked.

"Something about a chair and loads of food," Richelieu said dismissively, not really comprehending the importance of what he had just said.

Tréville froze.

"I think I may have some names for you," he said, his heart pounding at the prospect of a possible breakthrough.


	30. Chapter 30

Greetings from Laughlin, on this Veterans Day.

How you are all well. Many thanks for the reviews and readers. Great to hear from old friends again. Responding to each of you will be easier once home but I seriously appreciate the time you take to comment.

So, what happens next?

CHAPTER 30

I

It was gone three in the morning when Tréville stretched out on his bed and tried to sleep. He had only paused to remove his boots and doublet and lay there restlessly turning, his mind full of plans and the August night uncomfortably hot. There was time for a short nap if only his over-active mind would give him any respite. He had left instructions with Serge to be roused at six should he slip into a deeper sleep. There was no need for the men to be aware that he might have still been in his bed when they began to stir for the first meal of the day and the old cook was always up at five without any assistance himself; it had been his way for as long as Tréville had known him.

Discussions with Richelieu had gone on until after one o'clock as they planned what to do about Allaire and de Mayenne. The major decision was whether or not one or both men should be taken into custody that morning and questioned 'intensively' – Richelieu's word, not Treville's, who would rather not know the methods involved in the Cardinal's 'intensive' questioning.

Eventually, they decided against picking up either of the men because they still did not want to alert Gaston. There were other actions that could be taken instead.

The hope was that Allaire would meet with his contact again. As Porthos had been noted and was suspected of following, d'Artagnan would be assigned to the task and the contact would be the one who was apprehended. De Mayenne was correct in assuming that he was not on the Versailles guest list so he would be arrested as soon as the royal party had departed for the hunting lodge to prevent him from having any further association with other plotters. He would be delivered to Richelieu and the interrogation would commence.

Tréville communicated all of this and more to the three friends once they had returned to the garrison and then they also retired for what remained of the short night.

In the darkness, Tréville was reminded that it was just over a week since Athos had lain in the same spot in an easy slumber. How was the Musketeer faring? Had he even reached Troyes? Had he managed to gain entry to the meeting that was to be held within a few short hours? Would he be safely on his return journey before the day was out?

As he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep, Tréville continued to ponder the unknowns.

Then he recalled the unsavoury task that he and Richelieu were undertaking together later that morning. They were going to have to tell the King of his brother's new treachery.

II

"How dare he! Why is he still walking about in my palace? Why didn't you throw him in the chatelet the moment you found out about this, Richelieu? What a fool I must appear in his eyes! He is plotting this and there was I, welcoming him with open arms, having him seated at my side during a banquet I held in his honour and all the time he was laughing at me behind my back. How could you let him do this, Tréville?"

The screaming, near-hysterical tirade had been going on behind closed doors for more than ten minutes, despite the combined efforts of the Queen, Cardinal and Captain to placate His Majesty.

He was, at this point, beyond reason and Tréville could sympathise with him a little. The man had placed all his hope in the fact that Gaston had indeed reformed and the two could continue amicably in their lives, the way brothers should behave towards each other, yet here was Gaston, the master of deceit and jealousy, plotting with others against the King of France yet again. It had to be a major disappointment.

The concern, though, was that someone, namely Gaston, might hear this unprecedented outburst and would grow suspicious, or even ask questions as to what had occasioned it. This was lasting far longer than his usual temper tantrums.

Richelieu decided to wait out the emotional explosion; the King would tire eventually and then they would be able to discuss the situation properly.

At length, Louis ceased stomping around the room, curtailed his wild gesticulations and refrained from shouting out ever more colourful - and painful - methods of punishment he wished to be administered to his brother.

Eventually he started to listen.

Richelieu and Tréville outlined the plans they had spent the early part of the night deliberating and their reasons for pursuing those actions.

The King's eyes narrowed dangerously. Petulant and childlike he might be on occasions, but he was no imbecile.

"I love to hunt, Cardinal, but I dislike intensely the idea of being the bait," he announced in clipped tones, having quickly realised what Richelieu's intentions were.

"It is imperative, Sire, that we apprehend all malcontents involved in this, especially those in direct association with your brother," Richelieu explained patiently, and not for the first time. "That is the sole reason why we are not making obvious moves immediately. Gaston will have his information from the meeting and he will want to tell you part of it. Unbeknownst to him, however, we will have had our own man present who will attest to what is true, that which is false and, we trust, a whole lot more besides. Gaston must not know what we are about just yet."

Louis sank into a chair and thought over what had been said.

"So you wish for me to play a part, that of the loving, all-forgiving brother? I am to pretend that I trust Gaston implicitly, as if accepting all his lies for he must not know, at least not right now, that I want him locked up in the deepest cell in the chatelet and the key thrown into the river."

That was a new sanction and several steps removed from the extreme violence he had been contemplating only minutes earlier. He had been quite creative and, in a moment of distraction, Tréville hoped that the suggestions would not give Richelieu ideas! He suppressed the chuckle that was rising and wondered in horror if lack of restful sleep was making him hysterical in turn.

He and the Cardinal exchanged wary glances as Louis fell silent once more.

Suddenly he brightened and clapped his hands together – generally a bad sign.

"Of course I shall pretend to be that which I am not. If my valiant Musketeer can succeed in doing it, then so can I."

The irony was not lost on Tréville or Richelieu, though neither man was in a position to share it.

Athos was not playing a part. Yes, he had an assumed name but he was being every inch the aristocrat that he was born to be.


	31. Chapter 31

Okay, greetings from a hotel in Laughlin!

After my experience with water and leaks last year (that I am still trying to sort myself out from), we went out for a Veterans Day brunch Monday and came home after two hours to a washing machine malfunction and the water meeting us at the end of the drive! We spent the first night there but my bedroom was unusable so I slept on the sofa bed amidst moved furniture (definitely familiar) but the noise of 14 fan dryers wore us down and we sought sanctuary last night elsewhere. News is good in that no demolition work is needed!

Here, Serge does his best ...

CHAPTER 31

Thursday, 16th August, dawned and promised to be another uncomfortably hot day in the city. There was no escaping the miasma of unpleasant smells of rubbish, sewage and the great unwashed bodies and it would only get worse as the day's heat continued to climb.

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan sat at their normal table in the yard breaking their fast. Serge eyed them worriedly as he set food before them. He did not usually pamper to the needs of the men; if they wanted food, they had to line up like everyone else and fetch it for themselves. There were occasions though – and this was one of them – when he wanted to show his support anyway that he could and if that meant spoiling some of the men, he would gladly do it. He knew the three were concerned about their absent brother and he fully appreciated the importance of this day.

At some point over the next few hours, Athos should come riding through the archway and put an end to their misery.

If he didn't, then those three boys would be on the road at first light the next day and Serge was already deciding in his head what victuals he would be packing for their journey. He had no words of comfort for them; there were none. They were eaten up with anxiety, as was the Captain. He could see it in all their faces and that concern was being silently communicated to the rest of the garrison.

The atmosphere was uncomfortable, the tension tangible and it was not helped by the fresh string of orders Treville was issuing with each new day. They were going to be on the move, to Versailles, but that was usual for this time of year. Everyone was familiar with the King's annual trip to his hunting lodge in the late summer but the preparations for this one were unprecedented.

There was nothing normal about this proposed hunting trip and Serge had been a soldier long enough to realise that the Captain was preparing for a battle. He was at the Palace for the greater part of each day, returning late afternoon or early evening to monitor the progress of his instructions and then he would disappear again.

The intention was clear that the vast majority of Musketeers were going to accompany the royal party on this occasion, leaving only a skeleton force to man the garrison. Serge had had his own orders to ensure that there was enough food for those remaining to fend for themselves as he was expected to join those on the move and cater for them wherever they were to camp. He had spent the past few days doing a full inventory of food reserves and had had Treville's permission to requisition more. The Captain had signed off on every list that Serge had set before him without question and that alone told the old soldier that things were serious.

The blacksmith had been instructed to check the shoes of all mounts and other horses needed to pull wagons. All halters and bridles were subjected to the same level of scrutiny and repairs made or leatherwork re-stitched. Treville demanded a reserve stock of everything.

In the armoury, all weapons were sharpened, cleaned, oiled and carefully packed. There was a regular inventory completed but this was updated and whilst the Captain ordered additional powder kegs, more musket balls were being cast.

Carpenters and wheelwrights were tasked with maintaining and doing any necessary repairs to the carts that were kept by the garrison for they would need to be loaded with everything required for an army on the move.

Serge watched and listened and said nothing but he knew of the late night conversations between Treville and the three remaining _Inseparables _because he always provided refreshments for the group. Whenever he carried a loaded tray into the Captain's office, the four of them would be pouring over documents and lists and maps.

Something was happening and it was not good. He wondered how much of it was linked with the absence of Athos and he could not help but worry all the more, although he kept his fears close to his heart. There was no asking anything of the Captain and the three friends as he could see their suffering and he did not want to add to it but late one night he overheard Porthos again asserting that he would do all he could before the end of the fourteenth day but then he would leave to search for Athos.

Today was the fourteenth day since the boy had left for wherever he was bound and for whatever it was that he had to do. In his head, Serge muttered a prayer; it was not his first and it would not be his last.

Please, God, let Athos ride through those gates today.

As much as Treville was occupied, so he also kept the _Inseparables _busy; anything that might stop them thinking too much about what Athos might be doing or what might be happening to him.

For several days, they had been up and out early in the morning and returning past midnight to be shut up with the Captain in his office and reporting on whatever it was that they had to report. Things had changed in the last two days though. Whilst d'Artagnan was still leaving the garrison, Aramis had been ordered to check the stores in the infirmary. He had been busy packing up jars of herbs and ointments, procuring additional liniments and making bandages.

An army always needed medical supplies. The occasional accident was unavoidable and a group of men in the field for any length of time might succumb to illness and every means possible had to be employed to prevent it spreading but it was inevitable that injuries would result if battle ensued.

Porthos was responsible for supervising the recruits. They were not making up the force going to Versailles but they were involved in getting the rest of the regiment ready for departure. They were tasked in taking all the tents onto the training area behind the garrison and erecting every single one, checking for wear and tear, making those repairs when necessary. They aired the bedrolls and then scrutinised, cleaned, counted and packed up all the other camping equipment used by soldiers on the move.

Serge heard footsteps on the wooden balcony above him and knew without looking that the Captain was up and about and probably had been for some time. The steps halted and Serge could imagine him standing still, hands on the balustrade, arms straight and surveying the world that was his.

Tutting to himself, Serge went back inside the mess room to the kitchen, the world that was his domain, and he started loading another tray for it was his duty to ensure that the commanding officer of this regiment was well enough to keep body and soul together. He had known Treville for years, had seen him flourish from a raw recruit, through the ranks and to the fine Captain he now was. With rank came responsibility and Serge had seen the man brooding over decisions he had had to make and the consequences he had had to face. He was a leader who cared about his men, earning their trust and loyalty, which was why they would follow him through the very gates of hell if that's what he required of them.

No, Serge decided as he picked up the loaded tray, whatever it was that Tréville was getting ready for was not good. He might be a seasoned soldier and an experienced commander but that did not mean the man did not worry and he _was_ definitely worried. You only had to look at him to see the exhaustion and pinched lines around his eyes, the grim expression and brow perpetually furrowed the way it did when he had a headache.

Serge could not do anything to prevent what was going to happen, but he could do his best to make sure that Tréville was looked after if he was too busy to look after himself and that care would be extended to those boys, worried as they were about their brother.

"Please, God," Serge muttered aloud this time, "I know I'm not a prayin' man but I'm prayin' now and hopin' you're listenin'. Let Athos ride in through those gates today. I'm not askin' for me – though I admit I want to see that he is fine – but for that man up those stairs and those boys out there because I couldn't stand to see 'em hurtin' anymore than they are right now."


	32. Chapter 32

Honestly, I could get a complex from the number of you who are convinced that I have 'done' something to Athos! What on earth gives you that idea? 🙂

We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?

If there are any errors, I apologise. Sitting at the desk in the hotel room and trying to get this uploaded whilst I can

CHAPTER 32

The deception and lies abounding at the Palace might have been amusing under other circumstances but the situation was far too serious for that and most of the burden for smoothing the way fell squarely onto the shoulders of Richelieu and Tréville.

At least, mused the Captain, the Cardinal was looking as jaded as he himself felt.

Gaston was at his sycophantic best, aiming on being pleasant with all, not just his brother, and Tréville had seen Richelieu wince more than once at the Duc's pointed efforts to strike up a conversation with him.

For his part, Louis was doing very well. The first few hours after he had learned of his brother's treachery were worrying in that he was trying too hard, resulting in excessive ebullience, but that had tempered as the days passed and now an onlooker who was none the wiser to events would not suspect anything.

The Queen was admirable. She engaged Gaston in easy conversation and daily was seen walking with him in the gardens, a hand on his arm in a conciliatory manner as they negotiated the colourful flower beds a string of ladies in attendance following at a respectful distance.

D'Artagnan maintained a surveillance on Allaire and found no problem in following him. With Porthos and Aramis absent from court as they were kept busy at the garrison, Allaire had grown somewhat careless. Perhaps d'Artagnan's lack of a pauldron meant that he was without authority, was not worthy of consideration as one of the Musketeer body. Whatever the reason, Allaire was oblivious to his new shadow and d'Artagnan was able to observe the latest meeting with the contact, a short, thickset individual with bulbous eyes.

It was this person whom d'Artagnan then followed to an address not too far removed from the garrison.

So it was that two hours later, as Pierre Folger left his lodgings, mind set on a venison stew accompanied by a fine claret, that he was surrounded by a large group of armed Musketeers and promptly arrested. Under the supervision of Captain Tréville, the man was led away, loudly protesting his innocence, and handed over to a small group of the Cardinal's men who awaited his arrival at the chatelet. Tréville gave a curt nod to the person leading the group, turned on his heels and walked away for he had recognised the man immediately. Although it was not publicly known, he was Richelieu's chief inquisitor.

As he left the confines of the prison behind him, Tréville took a deep breath of fresh air and felt a twinge of sympathy for the man he had delivered up to an agonising interrogation. He really did not want to know how Richelieu extracted some of his information.

That had been the day before and now Tréville sat in Richelieu's office as the latter bemoaned the fact that there was nothing to report from the chatelet.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the Captain of the Red Guard who stood stiffly to attention before the Cardinal's desk and was not in invited to sit. He scowled down at the Musketeer officer, an expression that steadily intensified as Richelieu made his pronouncement.

"I have perused the names of the sixty names of the men you have selected and have made some adjustments. Before you object, I have my reasons. Once we leave for Versailles you and the Red Guard come under the leadership of Captain Tréville who is co-ordinating everything to do with His Majesty's safety. You are to follow his instructions to the letter, do you hear me?"

The man mumbled a reluctant response.

"You will be given additional information as soon as we reach Versailles and not before. Security is essential and no," Richelieu interrupted the man before he could protest, "I am not suggesting you would divulge anything of importance but the same applies to the Musketeer regiment too."

He pushed a piece of paper over the desk.

"There are the details of your encampment and its relationship to the Musketeer camp. There is to be no mixing between the men, you keep them apart. You will be assigned different details so your paths should not cross. You must have realised with the extent of preparations that we anticipate some trouble but there must be none between the Red Guard and Musketeers. It is imperative that, when the time comes, you work together. Any misdemeanour, no matter how small, will be dealt with by a court martial. I am relying upon you to make that point clear with the men who accompany you."

"The same message will be given to my men," Tréville reassured him.

With nothing more to be said, the Red Guard Captain was dismissed.

"Why did you make alterations to the list?" Tréville asked when they were alone once more.

"There were only three of four but I knew them to be related to some of those on the list and I thought it better to avoid additional problems."

"A wise decision," Treville said diplomatically.

Richelieu's grin was almost feral. "But of course."

Later, in the Palace Yard, the Captain nodded his thanks to a stable boy who brought his mount to him. He placed a couple of coins in the boy's hand for the horse had been well looked after and then made to swing tiredly into the saddle. He was readjusting his seat and taking up the reins as a lathered mount was ridden hard into the yard. Its rider slid from the saddle just as the boy hurried over to the exhausted animal.

A servant ran down the steps to the newcomer and said something beyond Treville's hearing but the response was audible enough and brusque.

"No, my message is not for the King. I need to see the Duc d'Orleans immediately. Take care of my horse; we have both had a hard ride from Troyes."

The man was already heading to the entrance, hitting his hat against his thigh to dislodge some of the dust from his journey. The servant broke into a run to overtake and lead the way.

When the quiet had descended once more upon the yard, Treville was left alone with mixed feelings. This had to be the 'insider' Gaston had spoken of when he first arrived and the Captain wondered what that news might include. However, if he had arrived in Paris, then Athos might already be back at the garrison with the much-needed information.

With a heart full of anticipation, Treville spurred his own mount into moving and rode back to the garrison as quickly as he dared.

The feeling was short-lived however.

As soon as he rode through the archway, the first people he saw were Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan seated at their usual table at the bottom of the stairs leading to his office. He saw the momentary flicker of hope in their eyes as their heads turned as one in his direction the instant they heard hooves and then he saw the disappointment weigh them down again.

Dismounting and handing the reins to a Musketeer who met him, he strode over to the unhappy group.

"Gaston's man has just arrived from Troyes so Athos might not be far behind. There is time yet for him to appear."

He knew his words brought little encouragement and he sighed. "But I think it best you prepare for the journey. You have my permission – and blessing – to leave at first light."


	33. Chapter 33

Greetings from back in the house at Laughlin. Everything dry and damage being assessed next week but not looking too bad.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Apologies for any errors in this chapter.

So what does the messenger arriving at the palace have to say?

(Feel as if I am lighting the touch paper on this chapter and standing back! Lol!)

CHAPTER 33

The new arrival at the palace, Etienne L'Hernault, was confident enough in his relationship with Gaston that he slouched in a comfortable chair, his casual posture designed more to ease his aching limbs after so many hours in the saddle. In his early thirties, his tall frame was muscular and bore no sign of the excesses of a privileged life style but his face was hard, cruel even with heavy eyebrows and dark, hooded eyes.

He reached for the glass of claret that Gaston held out to him, the gesture a mediocre acknowledgement of what he had done on the Duc's behalf.

"So, how was the meeting?" Gaston asked, his tone suggesting that he was not even remotely interested although both men were fully aware that he was eager to hear what had transpired.

"It went reasonably well, all things considered," L'Hernault replied haughtily.

"Only 'reasonably'?" Gaston threw back at him.

"They certainly fell for everything you told me to say on your behalf."

"So they are going to meet us at Versailles?"

L'Hernault shook his head and set his glass down on an occasional table positioned by his elbow.

"They are not prepared to supply the men in the numbers you were expecting."

"What!" Gaston spluttered, his meticulous planning suddenly coming under threat.

"They were disappointed that you were only providing seventy-five men in the first instance. They reasoned that, given your status, you would have more at your disposal."

"I would, except that my loving brother curtailed my ability to have anything remotely resembling an army, otherwise I would not have had to comecrawling to them to secure their support. Surely they understood that?" Frustrated, Gaston downed his drink in one and immediately reached for the decanter to replenish his glass.

L'Hernaiult shrugged. "They pledged varying numbers. Some were paltry, barely ten if they could manage that. Two or three said they could manage about twenty to twenty-five but few of them have many regular trained men. They have to be prepared to provide some kind of militia for the King if needed, but they just pull men from their estates and push something that resembles a weapon into their hands, hoping for the best. The excuse is that it is harvest time and the tenants will starve in the winter if the crops are not brought in promptly and merely left to spoil."

"So how many can I expect?" Gaston ground out.

L'Hernault took a deep breath before replying for he knew that his answer was not going to be well received.

"Two hundred, perhaps a few more if we are lucky."

"Lucky!" Gaston leaped to his feet in barely contained fury. "I need more than luck to go up against my brother. I _need _men!"

"I pressed them, but they swore that was all they could provide and only about one quarter of them will be trained, experienced men."

"Do they not realise that they will be up against Musketeers? There may even be a few of the Cardinal's Red Guard thrown in for good measure too. _They_ do not play at being soldiers."

"Your force will number nearly three hundred. How many Musketeers accompany the King when he goes hunting?" L'Hernault inquired.

Gaston appeared to calm down a little. "There will be about thirty in attendance for this trip; that seems to be the usual number for an extended trip, less when it is only a day's shooting."

"There you are then," L'Hernault said reassuringly. "You will have nearly ten times the number. Even Musketeers could not contend with a force of that magnitude. You will also have the surprise element. I take it that relations with your brother are vastly improved?"

"Of course," Gaston answered smugly. "He believes every single thing I have been telling him. I have even gone so far as shedding the odd tear when begging his forgiveness for the tenth time. We spend hours together every day and I have to endure his endless ramblings about trivial matters. There are times when I manage to divert the conversation to details regarding the trip to Versailles and try to get from him as much information as I can."

"And have you been successful?"

Gaston smiled, "Naturally. That's how I learned the size of the Musketeer contingent. My brother is so desperate to convince me that I am accepted into the fold once more that he cannot stop talking. He has given me specifics regarding the actual hunting days, his favourite routes, when the party will merely be resting at the lodge and the type of entertainments that are being provided. Using that information, we can plan how and when to launch the actual attack."

L'Hernault frowned. "I have to warn you that many of the nobles are hesitant about raising arms against the King. I think that is another reason for the weak response in providing men. I tried to motivate them but Menier, who has instigated this and motivates them, wants to bring yet another petition to the King at Versailles, thinking that he will be in a good mood with the hunting."

"I must not depend upon their numbers then," Gaston said bitterly.

"I am sure that they will arrive near Versailles in time but they are anxious to avoid conflict at all costs. I reminded them petitions have been produced on previous occasions, all of which have been ignored by Louis, as his father – your father – did before him. Louis understands conflict; you only have to look at what has happened to the Huguenots in recent years," L'Hernault continued.

"It is about time that the nobility learned to stand up for themselves," Gaston grumbled.

"Exactly what I told them and they seemed to be encouraged enough to return to their estates to make preparation. Those who are on the King's guest list for Versailles will be travelling to Paris first."

"So we will have the time to work on them individually when they get here," Gaston determined. "I cannot wait until the trip to see if they definitely arrive north of Versailles."

L'Hernault nodded.

"Was there anything else?" the Duc asked.

"Well there was one other thing," L'Hernault began. "It is probably not of any importance but it did strike me as strange."

"And what was that?"

"There was a nobleman there who was not whom he claimed to be."

That had Gaston's attention.

"You are sure?"

"Completely. I could never forget him or his family." L'Hernault's expression was grim. "Suffice it to say, there is a history there, at least between our late fathers, and it is not a good one."

"Why would he claim to be someone else?"

"I have no idea. All I do know is that the young Comte de la Fėre suddenly disappeared without a trace and re-emerged at this meeting using an assumed name."

"How can this impact upon us? Is he a problem about which we need to be concerned?" Gaston was suddenly worried.

L'Hernault's grin was devoid of any mirth. "Not at all. Given the circumstances of the past, I would have preferred to have had the opportunity of dealing with things myself but I have assigned three of my men to take care of that particular problem and they have never failed me yet!"


	34. Chapter 34

Greetings from Kent. I flew home overnight and landed this morning so now I am staying with family until Saturday. Almost midnight but as I slept 4 hours this afternoon (not a minute's sleep on the plane) I am now very wide awake so I thought I'd upload this, written yesterday during the flight. Apologies for any errors that have crept in.

CHAPTER 34

I

Tréville stood in the yard in the grey, dawn light as he watched the three friends saddle their mounts and attach various bags containing food, extra clothing, medicines and their thick cloaks. He glanced skyward and eyed the clouds warily; the August heat and humidity were finally giving way to the threatened storm and he knew it would rain before the day was out.

He shivered in his shirt sleeves and wrapped his arms around his body in a vain attempt to maintain the warmth he had felt in his bed. Not that he had slept much. He still nursed a vague hope that the friends would ride out of the city and meet their brother along the road after a minor delay. Perhaps the weather had already broken to the south and stretches of the route had been rendered temporarily impassable.

In his heart, though, he feared the worst. Athos was a good horseman and he carried valuable information – always assuming that he had arrived near Troyes to begin with and that he had gained entry to the meeting. If L'Hernault had managed the journey to arrive the evening before, then Athos should have succeeded too.

Finishing their preparations, d'Artagnan and Porthos grimly swung up into their saddles; there had been little conversation if any as they had readied themselves for their journey. There had been a muted thanks for Serge when the old cook emerged from his kitchen with supplies for them and then he had retreated to the doorway to watch their departure.

It was Aramis who stepped up to the Captain to say farewell.

"You have the map of the route I discussed with Athos?" Tréville asked for the third time.

Aramis patted the pocket in his long coat.

"I have it safe." He sensed his Captain's unease. "We _will _find him," he declared, as much for his own benefit as that of the older man.

Tréville managed a weak smile. "I have no doubt about that." He grew serious once more, "But I can only give you ten days. You must be back by the twenty-seventh. We leave for Versailles two days later."

Aramis nodded, "I understand." The Captain had already explained everything to him and the others about Gaston's deception and the impending threat to the royal couple at Versailles. He had even imparted news of the arrival of the Duc's man when he had tried to maintain their optimism for the imminent arrival of Athos.

That same optimism had withered and died as the hours of darkness passed and there was no sign of their friend.

"We will be back by then," Aramis stressed.

The implication was clear. If they did not find Athos within ten days, they were never likely to find him and almost certainly not alive. Tréville knew that the friends would move heaven and earth to bring their brother back to Paris, even if it were his body. It was inconceivable to have Athos laid to rest anywhere but in the garrison's cemetery.

Tréville shook his head to dispel such melancholy thoughts. Realistically, Athos was only a few hours overdue and, as Captain, he would not usually instigate a search until men's whereabouts were unknown for two or three days. Anything could delay the return from a mission if the Musketeers had been sent far from the city's outskirts.

However, the Captain had had qualms about this mission from the moment it was mooted and, as circumstances had become more twisted, that feeling had not dissipated. It had merely worsened and it had been a constant struggle not to communicate the extent of those fears to Athos' brothers or why the young man was at a greater risk in the company of nobles; Tréville could not, and would not, divulge his true identity.

"Are you alright?" Aramis asked worriedly.

Tréville nodded wearily. "It seems that you are always asking me that at the moment. I am fine – just a little tired with all that's going on. I have not been sleeping well of late."

"Do you want me to prepare something before I leave to help you sleep tonight?"

Tréville laid a hand on Aramis' shoulder. "Thank you but no. If I need something, there are others I can ask. I am not willing to detain you any longer. Besides, the best remedy for my sleeplessness is when you come back through that archway with Athos. Now go, and God's speed."

They made their farewells and he watched them ride out, just as he had done with Athos fifteen mornings earlier. Turning, he was about to ascend the stairs to his office when he caught sight of Serge still standing there and raised a hand in greeting.

The only response from the old man was a sad shake of the head before he, too, disappeared.

Suddenly, Tréville felt very alone as he stood in the empty yard.

II

Later that morning, he was back at the palace in the presence of the King and Richelieu as they listened to Gaston 's account of what he had learned from L'Hernault who had attended the meeting. When Richelieu asked if the man could be summoned as he had some questions of his own, Gaston blustered some excuse about him already having ridden on to his own estate.

"That is a little convenient if you ask me," Richelieu broke the silence that followed Gastoh's retiring to his rooms.

"Too convenient," Tréville agreed staring at the door through which Gaston had left.

"Do you believe him though?" Louis asked, looking from one man to the other, his eyes portraying his hope that they had been given the truth.

"I believe that the nobles are wanting to petition Your Majesty but I do not believe that is all they want to do. Why else would Gaston have seen fit to move a force into position north of Versailles? He is expecting support from the nobles or he would not have made his move but I fear that he is withholding that gem of information from us," Tréville answered.

Louis fixed his gaze hopefully on Richelieu.

"I concur with everything the Captain has said. I am sorry," he added when he saw the King's crestfallen expression, "but your brother has told us only that which he chooses us to know. He has gone to great lengths to infiltrate their meeting if they are merely intent upon presenting you with a petition. We must presume the worst."

Louis turned to Tréville. "Then everything rests upon your man getting back with a list of those involved and details of their plot. Is there no word from him yet?"

"No, Your Majesty. I had hoped that he would have returned yesterday as expected but he has failed to do so. His friends departed early this morning in the hope of intercepting him on the road."

"He had better get back," Richelieu grumbled. "It would be a great inconvenience to us, Tréville, if he went and got himself killed."

Tréville bit back what he wanted to say and ground out another response instead. "I have no doubt that Athos would find it of great inconvenience too!"


	35. Chapter 35

_**Morning, all. and a very Happy Thanksgiving to those of you in the US. Grrr, I hate jetlag! 4.5 hours' sleep last night and very erratic the first night!**_

_**Slightly longer chapter this time as I really wanted to get to a certain point and did not want to rush it. Thank you for comments and reading. I look forward to seeing what you think of this chapter …!**_

CHAPTER 35

The sun had fully risen by the time the three friends left the outskirts of Paris behind them and were on the road south. Conversation was at a minimum, each lost in their own thoughts as they anticipated seeing a familiar figure riding around each bed towards them.

They stopped at every group of dwellings and taverns on route to ask if anyone answering Athos' description had passed through there in the previous twenty-four hours, but the response was always firmly in the negative. If a village deviated a little from the main road, they took turns to stay in plain sight whilst the other two went off to make their inquiries. They were fearful that if they all left the route, Athos might ride past without any of them knowing.

Just before noon, they paused by a stream from which they had a clear view of the road and shared some of the provisions Serge had prepared for them. They had all wanted to press on regardless, eating in the saddle as they travelled but it was Porthos who prevailed upon them to let the horses have a rest.

As the horses drank from the stream and grazed, the men picked at their food.

"If he left when he was supposed to, we should have seen him by now," Porthos said gloomily.

"You know he could have been delayed by anything," Aramis said in an attempt to reassure him. "His horse could have thrown a shoe and he was a distance from the nearest village with a blacksmith. That would have resulted in a long walk."

Even so, they cut short their break and soon resumed their journey, repeating the process of the morning but, as the afternoon wore on, the weather turned against them and they could not ignore it. Dark clouds accumulated, piling high into the sky as the wind grew stronger. They spurred their horses on, but temperatures dropped, forcing them to don their cloaks just as the first raindrops started to fall.

Within minutes, the rain was torrential so that they were soon soaked, their cloaks rendered ineffective. Heads down, Aramis and Porthos rammed hats on more securely, the broad brims creating waterfalls that cascaded before them. D'Artagnan, who was still without any form of head covering, swiped at the saturated hair plastered around his face.

When lightning split the sky above them and a deep rumble of thunder immediately followed, Aramis rode his horse ahead of them, turned and halted in their path.

"This is ridiculous!" he shouted above the elements. "We have to get shelter and wait this out. Athos would be doing the same."

"Even if he's carrying information of such importance?" d'Artagnan asked. "He wouldn't attempt to get back to Paris as soon as he could?"

"Especially because 'e's carryin' such valuable information. 'E knows he 'as to get it back an' he must stay safe. Accidents can 'appen in these conditions."

They fell silent, the same idea crossing all their minds that an accident might be the very reason that they had not met up with Athos yet.

"When I looked at the map before all this started, I saw some habitation which should not be too far ahead of us now. There should be somewhere there where we could take shelter," Aramis insisted.

Seeing an end in sight to their collective misery, they travelled on at a steady pace, not pushing the horses too hard for fear of them slipping as the ground beneath their hooves deteriorated into a treacherous morass. Being so careful meant that nearly another hour passed before they saw the cluster of buildings that made up the place that Aramis had recalled seeing on the map the Captain had given to him.

They were cold, dispirited, exhausted and shivering in their wet clothing when they stopped before a low, one-storey building that passed as a tavern according to the only person they encountered who was prepared to brave the weather.

Slipping from his saddle, d'Artagnan landed in a puddle and muttered a curse under his breath. He glanced in the direction of the other two, hoping that they had not witnessed what he had just done. They were oblivious to his discomfort, concentrating instead upon unfastening the bags from behind their saddles.

He stood still, watching them as they worked. Their mouths were set into grim lines whilst fatigue and worry were clearly etched into their faces. As much as he was concerned about Athos' absence, these men must feel it all the more keenly given their years of service together and their deep bond of friendship. He had certainly seen that first-hand when they had doggedly resolved to prove Athos' innocence when he was awaiting execution.

D'Artagnan felt another stab of guilt for believing so readily that his father had been murdered by Athos. He had given it plenty of thought in the time since then and he realised he should have questioned the readiness with which the murderer had identified himself. It was a preposterous act on the part of someone hell-bent on a serious crime spree and now was so obviously a ploy to incriminate the Musketeer.

"You two go inside and sort out a room and food for us; I'll take care of the horses," he volunteered as he began gathering up the reins.

"Hardly seems fair," Porthos growled," one of you and three sodden mounts."

D'Artagnan was already leading the horses round to the stable he had seen. "I'm a farm boy, remember? It won't take me long. Save me a place near a fire so I can dry out too."

Managing smiles at the young man's generosity, the two Musketeers entered the tavern. They found themselves in a low-ceilinged taproom, smoky from the fire at one end. There were only four or five patrons and they turned as one to stare at the Musketeers.

"Gentlemen, can I help you?" the tavern-keeper asked. "I'm always pleased to see the King's Musketeers."

"I'm glad to hear it," Aramis said jovially as he shrugged off his cloak and shook out a stream of water droplets onto the floor. "There are three of us and we require a room for the night but, before that, we need hot food and wine."

"It would be my pleasure. Seat yourselves by the fire. Robert, move yourself and let these good gentlemen get to the warmth," he shouted at an old man who was as comfortable as he could be on one of the settles beside the fireplace.

Aramis made to object, not wanting to disturb the old man, but the tavern keeper would hear none of it and Robert scuttled away to another table as quickly as his aged bones would allow.

Porthos and Aramis had barely begun to make themselves comfortable when the door to the tavern opened and d'Artagnan entered, his eyes swiftly sweeping the room to locate them.

"That was quick," Aramis quipped. "We've saved you a place by the fire," he added as the young man approached them.

But d'Artagnan's face was serious.

"I need you both to come with me now," and he turned on his heels and headed back to the door.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged quizzical glances even as they got to their feet and followed. There was something in the young man's demeanour that alarmed them so that they did not waste time picking up their cloaks again but headed straight out into the rain.

D'Artagnan led them to the stable. He had lit a lantern to give him some light as he worked on their mounts, rubbing them down and giving them food and water but he had not yet begun his task. Picking up the lantern, he moved into the depth of the stables and stood still, raising the lantern so that they could see into the end stall.

"Tell me you see what I see," he stated, his voice expressionless.

Flanking him, they looked where he told them.

A magnificent stallion stood there and whinnied softly as it recognised the men just as they knew the animal immediately.

It was Athos' horse.


	36. Chapter 36

Ooh, the last chapter left you on a bit of a cliff-edge, didn't it? Sorry about that.

I am, at last, back in my home and trying to establish some kind of working/writing routine, as well as getting ready for Christmas. Definitely a work in progress! (lol) However, I have (for the first time) got close to the 1000 word target. 1028 this time.

So, whilst I start writing the next chapter, what next for our friends after their discovery?

CHAPTER 36

The initial shock of the three friends at the sight of Athos' horse quickly gave way to practicality and suppressed anger.

"He's been here then," Porthos stated.

"Maybe not here," Aramis quietly corrected him, "but he's got to this area and someone has brought the horse to the inn."

"Who? Who's brought 'im here? How did they get 'old of 'im? Where was 'e?" Porthos mused aloud.

"I don't know any of the answers," Aramis admitted having checked the horse's head for any sign of injury and moving to run his hand down the animal's neck. D'Artagnan was likewise examining the legs, belly and thighs.

"He's not hurt," the young man declared, straightening up. "Nor is he missing any shoes."

"Then 'ow come 'e an' Athos 'ave parted company?" Porthos asked darkly, his patience wearing thin.

"I think I know the reason," Aramis said strangely. His hand had frozen on the animal's withers and then he started picking at something crusty in its hair.

"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked moving closer to see what was crumbling between his friend's fingers.

"Dried blood," Aramis replied simply, "and we know it doesn't belong to the horse."

"Athos?" d'Artagnan's eyes widened.

"'Ow else would they be separated? Someone 'ere must know somethin'. I'm goin' to start asking some questions," and he made to go but Aramis caught his arm.

"We need to find the saddle. Is the saddle here?"

D'Artagnan frowned, wondering why Aramis was bothered with the saddle when Athos was somewhere out in the stormy night and wounded, possibly even ... He could not bring himself to think of the alternative.

"We have to find the saddle," Aramis insisted as he started moving round the stable. Porthos seemed to understand and was galvanised into action, able to do something constructive at last.

The stable was not large and it did not take the three long to discover the familiar saddle stashed in a dark corner.

Porthos and d'Artagnan crowded round as Aramis carried the leather saddle into an open area and put it on the ground, crouching before it.

"Bring the lantern," he ordered, pulling a slim dagger from his boot and beginning to cut at some stitching on the underside of the saddle.

Porthos retrieved the lantern and held it aloft as Aramis worked carefully.

"What are you doing?" d'Artagnan asked, alarmed.

"Athos has a secret pocket sewn into the inside of his doublet for when he's carrying any small, important document but Treville told us he was not in uniform so he has another place on the underside of his saddle. If you look, the stitching is different. He will have done that himself to conceal ... ah!" he said triumphantly as he slowly withdrew a folded piece of paper.

Opening it, he studied the contents as the others waited silently with bated breath.

He looked up at them triumphantly. "It's the list of names. Athos got it."

"Are you sure?" d'Artagnan could not quite believe that something had, at last, gone as planned but he knew he should never have doubted Athos' ability to do what was expected of him.

"There is no mistaking his hand and his precision. Names, titles and estates – it's all here, along with some other marks that must signify something, although I do not know what they mean right now."

"And at what cost?" Porthos growled. "We 'ave the list but we don't 'ave Athos."

"For now," Aramis reassured him as he rose to his feet," but we have to get this back to Paris as soon as possible. Treville needs this."

"What're you talkin' about? We can't go back now, we 'ave to stay an' look for Athos. You 'eard Tréville. 'E gave us ten days an' we only left this morning," Porthos insisted, his anger growing.

"Wait! Hear me out. Naturally we are going to continue our search but Athos has gone to great lengths to secure this information for us, for Tréville and we owe it to him to get it to the people who need it sooner rather than later." He looked directly at d'Artagnan. "That's why you are going to take the list back to the Captain whilst we continue the search. You'll leave first thing in the morning; we'll just have to hope that the weather has improved by then."

"But ..." d'Artagnan began, for he was desperate to help find Athos but then he realised that what Aramis said was correct. They owed it to their missing brother to deliver the information he had gathered, especially if he had come to harm as a result. He nodded. "Of course, I'll take it."

Aramis laid a grateful hand on his shoulder. "We know you'll do it and we should not give you that responsibilty with you not having your commission yet but ..." he broke off.

"But after what you did regardin' Vadim, we think of you as one of us already. You just 'aven't got the pauldron yet, but it'll come. It'll come," Porthos added decisively. "An' who knows? Taking this information back might be all it needs."

D'Artganan could have hugged him for his belief and encouragement but now was not the time.

"I'll go, but you have to make sure that you find Athos and quickly. We don't know how badly he's hurt ..."

"If at all," Aramis interrupted optimistically.

D'Artagnan merely shrugged. "If he's hurt – and badly – he is going to need your help. I would have liked to be with you when he was found but I understand the significance of this list."

"It ain't over for the day, not yet. I've got some questions for the inn keeper an' I'm goin' to ask 'im right now," and Porthos strode out of the stable and into the night. So intent was he about his task that he failed to notice the rain had stopped at last.

Aramis and d'Artagnan watched him go and then it seemed to dawn on both that perhaps Porthos' method of asking his questions might not be what the occasion required and they took after him at a run, shouting for him to wait.


	37. Chapter 37

Thank you for the comments and for all the readers of the last chapter.

So, will Porthos and Aramis get any helpful information from the innkeeper. (Another chapter at just over 1000 words!)

CHAPTER 37

Aramis managed to get through the door before Porthos and moved with ease across the room towards the tavern keeper who was standing near their abandoned table and scratching his head, perplexed as to what to do with the bowls of hot stew he had set down for his latest guests. They had not walked out without paying as their wet cloaks had been spread out across the backs of the settles to dry.

The Musketeer did not break his stride as he reached the man, slid an arm around his shoulders, smiled as If a spider to a fly and steered him out of a rear door into the night air.

"Ssshhh!" he said, finger to his lips as the short innkeeper began to protest at being manoeuvred until his back was against the external wall. "We mean you no harm. You know that we are Musketeers, the King's elite regiment, and that we are honourable men -"

"We are as long as you tell us what we want to know," Porthos said menacingly, stepping forward and looming over the innkeeper who cowered before him and emitted a strange sound that resembled a terrified squeak.

Aramis extended a hand as if to hold Porthos back from any intended action.

"I repeat, we mean you no harm but we would like to know about that magnificent black stallion you have in your stable," Aramis said.

"Magnificent? That animal is a monster. Go anywhere near it an' it bites an' kicks," the inn keeper complained.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged glances and d'Artagnan, standing back so that he could watch proceedings, marvelled yet again at these men's ability to communicate silently and clearly in an instant just from their expressions.

"'E ain't 'appy," Porthos said, meaning the horse.

Aramis turned back to the innkeeper. "Is his owner nearby?" It was a vain hope but it was worth inquiring.

The innkeeper shook his head and scowled. "No, more's the pity. I don't want that beast here any longer than necessary, eatin' its way through everything." He suddenly brightened a little. "Fine horse for a soldier, like your good selves. He's for sale so if you make me a good offer, I'll ..." He broke off with a yelp.

Porthos' patience had finally given way when he heard about the animal being available for purchase; there was no way that Athos would have agreed to that so somehow, in some way, the horse had been taken from him. The situation was going from bad to worse.

Pushing Aramis aside, he grabbed the innkeeper by his grimy shirt front and hauled him upwards until they were almost nose to nose. The astonished man quivered in his grasp, his toes barely touching the ground as he was confronted by the furious Musketeer.

"Where'd you get the horse from? Answer me," he demanded, shaking the petrified man for good measure.

"Now, now, Porthos," Aramis said lightly as he intervened, easing Porthos' vice-like grip so that the innkeeper, finding his feet on firm ground once more, slumped back against the wall. "I'm sure that ..." He turned to the innkeeper and laughed. "I'm sorry. What did you say your name was?"

"Georges," the man stuttered, too frightened to realise that he had never had the opportunity to tell them his name. "Georges Dupuis."

"Nice to meet you, Georges. I'm Aramis," and he flashed a disarming smile at the quivering man, "and my grumpy friend here is Porthos. Say hello to Georges, Porthos."

"'Ello, Georges," Porthos growled and bared his teeth in a feral grin.

The innkeeper's eyes widened and he subconsciously moved closer to Aramis for protection. D'Artagnan turned his back on the scene, unable to conceal his amusement any longer; he knew what the two Musketeers were doing. Porthos was the bad one and Aramis was feigning a friendliness that he did not feel. At any moment, he could change to be just as deadly.

"Hello," Dupuis whispered.

Aramis patted the innkeeper on the shoulders and straightened the neck of the man's clothing as he continued speaking. "You must forgive Porthos if he appears a little short-tempered but we are concerned about a dear friend of ours, another Musketeer, who left Paris on the King's business fifteen days ago. He hasn't been seen since and that horse in your stable happens to be his horse. We would like to know how you came to have the stallion in your possession. Any information you could give us might help us in finding our friend."

Aramis casually laid a hand on the wall beside the man's head and seemingly relaxed, his weight transferring to that arm as he leaned forward, his other hand resting on his hip, the gesture deceptively bringing him in closer to the innkeeper. It was a subtly intimidating move.

"There's a small monastic house to the south of the village. No monks there now - they're all dead. Old age or the plague got 'em. They've never been replaced but there are four lay brothers who keep the place going and look after those of us left in the village. It hasn't been the same since the last outbreak of the sickness nearly two years ago. Lost my wife then, I did." He paused and looked from one Musketeer to the other as if in anticipation of sympathy.

It was not forthcoming.

"Yesterday morning, they sent me word they'd got a stallion an' they couldn't manage it. When I went to get it, they said a rider had arrived at their door late the night before. He was in a bad way -"

"How bad?" Aramis interrupted, his body tensing. "What had happened to him?"

"I don't know; I didn't ask," George's whined as he saw the expressions of the two Musketeers alter. "The lay brothers just said he wouldn't be needing the horse any more an' I could take it an' sell it."

D'Artagnan turned at his words and Porthos took another step closer.

"What did they mean about 'im not needin' the horse?" the big Musketeer growled.

Dupuis was frantic. "They didn't say more but I took it to mean that if your friend wasn't already dead, they didn't think he'd live much longer."


	38. Chapter 38

_**Thank you to all who have read and commented upon the last chapter. Words are creeping up again - this is 1077 and has gone through two major rewrites!**_

_**So, are the boys any closer to finding Athos?**_

Chapter 38

Colour drained from Aramis' face as the innkeeper's words registered.

"Was he sick or injured? What did they say?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Dupuis answered nervously for he could not miss the change that had come over all three men who now surrounded him. There was no joviality nor even intense anger, but he could see in them an urgency and near panic.

"They must have said something," d'Artagnan insisted, speaking to the innkeeper for the first time.

Dupuis shook his head. "No, I swear it, not in so many words, but I think he must have been injured."

"Go on," Aramis prompted.

"Well, the lay brothers were giving out his clothes or some of them. Old Guillaume got his boots. Nice soft leather, he said, although they were a bit big for him. There was a nice pair of breeches, but they were too good and fancy for round here, although there was a good woollen cloak that'd do someone some good."

"That doesn't explain why you should think he was injured." A note of irritation was creeping into d'Artagnan's voice.

"Stands to reason, doesn't it? He must've been wearing some sort of shirt an' doublet. Why not give them away too? They must've been damaged in some way an' maybe bloodstained."

"You 'ave an over-active imagination," Porthos said.

"And you're sure the lay brothers said nothing about the nature of his injuries?" Aramis pressed, desperate to find out all that he could.

Dupuis merely looked at him in confusion. "I've told you all I know, I swear it."

"And it's not much," Porthos grumbled.

"It's enough," Aramis remonstrated. "Put it all together, along with the blood on the horse. Athos is at the monastery, injured, and we need to get to him quickly."

He tried to dispel the fears that clouded his mind. If Athos were that badly hurt the previous morning that his survival was in doubt, they might already be too late.

"Well, we won't know standin' round here," Porthos declared. He looked at Dupuis. "You say the building is to the south?"

"Yes, stay on this road and you can't miss it. It's set in a clearing to the right.

Aramis slapped the wall with the flat of his hand causing Dupuis to flinch.

"d'Artagnan, re-saddle the horses, including Athos' one; we're restoring him to his rightful owner. Porthos, collect our things from the inn. Do the lay brothers own a horse and cart?" This last he directed at Dupuis who shook his head vehemently.

Aramis took out his money purse, fumbled for some coins and pressed them into Dupuis' hand. "There's for your trouble with the food and information, Georges. Now I need you to get a horse and cart?"

"Where from?" Dupuis asked.

"I don't know!" Aramis exclaimed. "Just find one. Someone in this village must have one to move things around. You do that for us and there'll be more for you and for the person who supplies the cart. You must also get Athos' boots back."

"Athos?" Dupuis seemed overwhelmed by the tasks assigned to him.

"Our friend," Porthos growled.

"Gentlemen," Aramis said decisively to his companions, "let's go and get our brother."

With renewed purpose, they were on the road within fifteen minutes. The night was unseasonably cold after the storm but at least it had not started raining again for no man wanted to wear a sodden cloak. The wind had dropped and the clouds had dissipated, revealing a half moon and a scattering of stars but not enough to light their way so Porthos and d'Artagnan carried a flaming torch each whilst Aramis led Athos' horse. The animal might have been awkward and wary of strangers, but he knew these men and followed them quietly and willingly.

It was almost a mile to the monastery. That was close enough to trade and share in supplies and to render help to the villagers when necessary but also gave a suggestion of isolation so desired by those who believed their calling was for the religious life. Stout, wooden, double doors set into the surrounding high wall were firmly shut to the world at this hour.

Aramis dismounted and hammered on them repeatedly.

Suddenly, a small square in the centre of one of the nail-studded doors opened to reveal part of a ghostly face, illuminated by a small lantern.

"Yes?" The voice was that of an old man and a nervous one.

"I am Aramis of the King's Musketeers. My companions and I have heard that you took in a rider two nights ago and we wish to see him for we believe him to be another Musketeer, our friend."

"We had a rider, yes, but he was not a Musketeer. He did not wear the insignia," the man said.

"I know. He was not in uniform, but he was about the King's business. Please, let us in."

The man turned away and Aramis craned his neck to peer through the aperture but although he could still see light from the lantern, the lay brother had gone from his range of vision. There was an exchange in muted tones; someone else had arrived.

Suddenly, there came the sound of bars being slid back and the two big doors opened, a curious face peering around each one A third man stood in the middle of the opening preventing Aramis and the others from entering.

"You say you seek a friend. Describe him."

Aramis frowned, expecting the first words to be an invitation within the walls and some hospitality but then he reminded himself that these men had not taken final vows and probably never had that intention. They were understandably suspicious. He sighed.

"About my height and age, slim, dark hair, green eyes and …"

"He is not here," interrupted the third man.

Aramis saw the startled expression flicker across the old man's face. So he had not been anticipating such a bare-faced lie then.

The Musketeer thought for a moment. "So be it but please, we prevail upon you for shelter for the night. We have been in the saddle since dawn searching for our friend and soaked by the rain. We are cold and hungry. Just a few hours' respite is all we need and then we will be on our way again."

The man considered the request and eventually, warily, he stood to one side and, with a nod of the head, bade them enter.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Okay, this chapter's slightly longer as I HAD to get to THAT certain point! **_

_**I realised I could not keep you in suspense for a few more days.**_

_**I just hope that posting within 24 hours will not confuse you.**_

CHAPTER 39

The friends walked through into the courtyard leading their horses as they heard the great doors being shut and barred behind them. A fourth man emerged from a darkened doorway and scuttled to join the other three lay brothers, the four of them standing close together as if in a show of unity against the soldiers.

"This is Porthos and this is d'Artagnan." Aramis introduced his companions, indicating them in turn and conscious of keeping his voice even. "And you are?"

He looked directly at the man who had admitted them and quickly assessed him. Straight-backed and the tallest of the four, he exuded an air of defiance.

"I am Bartholomew," he said sternly and went on to name those with him.

Theodore was the old man who had first come to the door. Wizened and bowed at the shoulders, he had seen at least seventy summers, or so Aramis gauged, but the lines that marked the corners of his eyes and mouth suggested a warmth of character and a wisdom garnered during a long life.

Anselm was of indeterminate age and could have fallen anywhere between forty and sixty. His face was hard, his eyes narrowed with suspicion and his mouth set in a grim line. Periodically, he opened it as if about to speak but seemed to think better of it and snapped it shut again.

The youngest was Robert but even he was older than the Musketeers. In the torch light, his face was sickly and clammy and he wrung his hands nervously as his eyes darted from the newcomers to Bartholomew and back again.

"We thank you for your hospitality and apologise for disturbing you at such a late hour," Aramis continued, maintaining a pleasant tone and delivering Porthos a deliberate smile for the big Musketeer was noticeably impatient.

"We will prepare some food for you," Bartholomew said, "but no doubt you wish to stable your horses …"

His voice trailed off as he seemed to see the fourth horse for the first time.

"Robert will help you," he added weakly, his eyes fixed upon the extra animal.

Aramis and Porthos turned to their mounts as if to unbuckle the bags attached to their saddles. D'Artagnan began to do the same.

"He's recognised Athos' horse," Porthos whispered.

"I know," Aramis replied softly, and their eyes met. "I hate lies, especially when they're told by someone within a religious house. It's about time we had some straight answers."

It was another one of those moments when they knew instinctively what to do so that d'Artagnan was left standing in mute surprise.

The Musketeers whirled around as one, drawing pistols from belts or from the holsters on the front of their saddles so that they had the four lay brothers covered between them.

"Stand perfectly still, gentlemen," Aramis ordered, as the four seemed to consider doing the exact opposite, but they rapidly complied, hands held aloft.

"I repeat, we are not here to harm you," the Musketeer insisted, his eyes and voice cold, all semblance of former friendliness a mere memory, "but we will have the truth."

When he had their attention, he hooked his brace of pistols through his belt and took a step forwards, knowing that Porthos was alert to their every move. In his peripheral vision, he saw that, belatedly, d'Artagnan also had a pistol trained on the lay brothers.

"I know you recognise our brother's horse. He arrived here the night before last and I believe he was wounded. Georges Dupuis told us that you gave him the horse to sell. Why? What has happened to Athos?"

His voice cracked under the strain of needing to know the worst. "Why do you say he is not here? He would not have left without the stallion. For pity's sake, if he has died in your care, then tell us. Do not lie to us and have us go on our way to continue our search in vain."

The lay brothers all looked to Bartholomew, ready to follow his lead but he appeared indecisive.

It was Theodore who broke the silence with a sad smile and indicated a door to the left of the main building. "Come, I will take you to him."

"Be quiet, you stupid man," Bartholomew spat out. What was it? Anger or panic?

"Enough, Bartholomew," Theodore said firmly. "We prayed that he would not be alone, unmissed by anyone. These men are his friends, his brothers-in-arms. They have a right to know."

"Know what?" Aramis asked, carefully watching the exchange between the two men.

It was as if Theodore had not heard him.

"We did our best for him. _You _did your best, but we all knew we did not have the necessary skills, that he needed more than we could give him."

Aramis felt sick. What did they mean? What were they talking about? The use of the past tense had not escaped him. Was he too late? Had Athos succumbed to his injuries, whatever they were?

"Enough!" he ordered, more brusquely than he intended. "Take me to him now."

"I will show you our infirmary," said Theodore, leading the way. He kept up a defensive commentary as they walked, as if engaged in casual conversation.

"The sick of the village come to us and we try to help them as best we can. Of course, we do not have the extensive learning of Brother Luke, God rest his soul, but Bartholomew assisted him in the infirmary and learned much although, it seems, not enough for your friend's needs. He saw the Brother do many wonderful things and constantly reads his notes. He referred to them when your friend arrived."

They had reached the door to the infirmary and Theodore held it open, his expression apologetic as he repeated, "Bartholomew did his best."

In the infirmary, six beds were set against each of the long walls and three were occupied, the invalids spread out to afford some privacy.

Porthos sprinted down the room that was sparingly lit by candles and looked at the patients. "He's not here!" he called out desperately.

Aramis looked down on the old man.

"Where is he?" he whispered.

Theodore sighed and walked to a door set in the right-hand wall.

"We call it the dying room," he said gently.

Aramis swallowed hard and watched his hand reaching for the latch as if it were not a part of his arm. This was the moment between the not knowing and the knowing; for now, he existed in ignorant dread but with the opening of the door, there would come either the realisation of his worst fears, when his world would fall apart, or the granting of a brief period of relief and hope.

Resolved, he pushed open the door and took a step, gagging at the stench within.

"Athos!" he moaned and heard Porthos and d'Artagnan break into a run.


	40. Chapter 40

_**Another chapter in about eighteen hours! I know it won't go to the top of the list so I hope folk don't miss it!**_

_**I loved Alison K's comment that it was like a Musketeers' Advent calendar and I liked the idea, although I don't know if I will be able **__**to maintain daily chapters throughout this busy month. I will try!**_

_**They have found their missing friend but at what cost?**_

CHAPTER 40

Porthos and d'Artagnan collided in the open doorway and peered past Aramis into the gloomy room. As the offending smell hit them, Porthos coughed uncomfortably whilst the younger man grimaced and covered his nose. Both were riveted by the sight of the figure huddled in the solitary bed.

"Wait," Aramis ordered, concentrating upon the still form who lay curled on his right side, back towards the door.

Aramis moved slowly around the bed, already making an initial assessment. Athos was worryingly close to the bed's edge and, in the candlelight, it became obvious why.

A trail of vomit ran from his partly open mouth, beneath his right cheek and down the side of the bed to pool on the floor, mere inches away from an empty bowl that had probably been set there for just such a purpose.

A candle stood on a simple table to the side of the bed and Aramis moved it closer so that he could see his friend's face more clearly. His fingers trembled as he felt for a pulse in the neck even as he watched the chest for a natural rise and fall.

"Is he …?" d'Artagnan began from the doorway, unable to finish his question.

"Aramis?" Porthos prompted, the urgency unmistakable.

The marksman allowed himself a weak smile as his eyes welled with tears of relief. "He's alive."

But he dared not add the word that had lodged itself into his head. _Just. _

Now he could hear the low, laboured breathing. Stroking untidy hair back from the forehead, he felt the heat of a raging fever and wondered how long Athos had been in its grip.

Aramis' gaze travelled down his friend's body. Both arms were bandaged at the elbows, the strips of linen crusted with blood spots. A sheet had been pulled up to Athos waist, but it clung unnaturally to his lower body and was darkly stained in many areas. Clenching his teeth against a rising anger, Aramis lifted the sheet to reveal Athos' nakedness, a larger bloody dressing on his side and the confirmation as to one source of the overpowering smell.

"Oh my poor, dear friend, how did you get yourself into this mess? But do not worry. We are here now and will look after you," he whispered, more for his own benefit than that of his unconscious brother.

His mind raced with decisions, prioritising them as he left the bedside, pushed between his friends and went out into the main part of the infirmary.

"Well?" Porthos demanded.

Aramis took in the men standing before him; two more of the lay brothers had joined them, curiosity drawing them.

"Where's Robert?" Aramis asked.

"Seeing to your horses," replied Anselm.

Aramis nodded approval and indicated a patient in a bed against the opposite wall. "So, Bartholomew, I want that man moved down the infirmary away from this area. We are going to use these two beds here. D'Artagnan, the first thing I want you to do is to get my bag. Robert has probably taken everything into the stable by now."

With a nod, d'Artagnan hastily left to fulfil his errand.

"Theodore, you will find all the clean sheets and blankets that you can and some rope. I'll want some of the sheets but use anything else to construct screens around these beds to afford us some privacy. D'Artagnan will help you when he returns.

"Anselm, I need plenty of cloths and buckets of water. Bring me one cold and one warm, not hot, to start with and then keep them coming. Bartholomew will be free to help you as soon as he has moved that man and told me exactly what he has done in his treatment of Athos.

"When Robert arrives, he is to clean up the mess in that room, strip the bed and remake it. Now, move!"

"What about me? What do I do?" Porthos asked quietly.

Allowing himself a moment of undisguised raw emotion, Aramis slipped a shaking arm around Porthos' shoulders and drew him back into the room where Athos lay.

"I need you to help me," he said, as they stood together and looked down upon their stricken brother. "I cannot do this on my own."

Even he did not know whether he meant the sheer practicalities of tending Athos or if it were the enormity of determining what was required to treat him appropriately. The lay brothers were clearly inept at the task, but he feared that he might not have the necessary knowledge either. He still had to examine the wound, but he would not uncover it until they had cleaned up their friend.

"He's bad then," Porthos said simply. He understood Aramis well and could interpret many of his reactions.

"He's bad," Aramis acknowledged. "He's burning up with fever; I suspect the wound is infected. They bled and purged him, Porthos, and left him lying in his own filth and vomit."

Porthos emitted a sound that resembled an angry growl and moved as if he were about to storm out after the lay brothers, but Aramis gripped his arm.

"Later, Porthos. There will be time to address their poor care later but for now we must focus on Athos. I need you to carry him out and put him into the nearest bed. I'll clean him there, but you must move his limbs and turn him for me. Then you can transfer him to the other bed. Can you do that?"

"Of course I can," Porthos said as he unbuttoned his doublet and threw it over a chair in a corner of the room.

Aramis disappeared briefly and returned with another sheet.

"We'll wrap him in this for you to pick him up." He grabbed the edge of the soiled sheet that covered Athos. "You ready?"

Porthos rolled up his shirt sleeves, took a deep breath and nodded. "Ready."

Aramis peeled back the bedding and heard Porthos' dismayed gasp.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I reckon it's a blessin' 'e's not aware of what's goin' on right now."

Once Athos had been covered with the new sheet, Porthos gently moved him into a better position and lifted him up with ease.

Aramis' breath caught as he watched one close friend cradling the frighteningly still and limp form of another, but he quickly recovered and moved to settle Athos' head more comfortably against Porthos' shoulder.

"Right, to work then," he announced and led the way out of the room.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Belated season's greetings to everyone and apologies that this chapter (and others) did not become a Musketeer advent calendar after all!**_

_**I hope you have all had a wonderful time and now you are preparing for the New Year.**_

_**So, what exactly has Bartholomew done to 'treat' Athos?**_

CHAPTER 41

When d'Artagnan returned with the saddle bag, Aramis set out its contents on a small table between the two beds, his hand hovering over the few bottles that he routinely carried with him. He was only half concentrating on counting the bandages as he watched Porthos gently settle Athos on the nearest bed, ensuring that he was covered with the sheet.

Bartholomew had moved the other patient and now stood at the end of the bed where Athos lay, sullenly watching proceedings. Theodore was struggling under the weight of blankets and sheets that filled his arms and d'Artagnan hurried to give him some assistance. The lay brother was heard quietly repeating the instructions he had been given and the young, would-be musketeer disappeared outside again to fetch the much-needed rope.

Aramis leaned over the bed and stroked Athos' forehead, masking the fear he felt at the heat being generated by the unconscious musketeer.

"Tell me what happened from the beginning and exactly what you have done for him?" Aramis asked, straightening and turning to fix Bartholomew with a stare. It had taken all his willpower not to say 'done _to _him' but he needed a concise and honest account and to throw accusations at the surly man might force him onto the defensive and, as a result, waste valuable time.

"He arrived two nights ago. Robert heard the horse and went to the gate and found him virtually unconscious in the saddle. When we got him in here, we saw that he had lost a great deal of blood judging by the amount on his clothing, on his hands, down his leg and over the horse and saddle. There was a deep gash on his left side, and it looked as if infection was already setting in."

"He'd lost a load of blood and so you decided to take some more," Porthos growled.

Aramis shot him a warning look for he needed Bartholomew to be open with him.

"The patient's humours were at odds; we were doing all we could to help," the lay brother replied, an edge to his voice.

"Athos. The patient's name is Athos," Porthos insisted dangerously. Aramis reached across the bed to lay a calming hand upon his arm.

"We did not know his name until you arrived. The man was near insensible; he was not capable of saying anything to us, least of all his name," Bartholomew persisted.

"We understand," Aramis said reassuringly whilst still holding onto his friend's arm. "And we are grateful that you took him in," he added deliberately, his eyes still locked with Porthos. "How many times have you bled him?" He tried to sound conversational.

"The first time was that night but the fever grew worse and so we did it a second time yesterday morning and again earlier today."

Aramis closed his eyes. If Athos had already lost a lot of blood, it was too often, rendering him even more weak and incapable of fighting the fever.

"And what else did you give him or do?" Aramis gave the lay brother his full attention once more.

"We used a number of things, but you must appreciate that his condition was serious when he arrived, and he continued to deteriorate despite our best efforts. The brothers who knew of such things have passed and we do not have their skills."

"So you keep telling us and we appreciate your efforts but tell me what you used," Aramis insisted, trying to ignore Porthos' muttered correction that he did not appreciate their efforts.

Bartholomew licked his lips nervously. "Our medicines have been depleted since the death of Brother Luke and I have tried to replicate them, but his writing was not always distinct, nor he did always include quantities or dosage. These were things he knew from years of experience whilst I have had to use trial and error."

"Just tell us what you used, man!" Porthos drew himself up to his full height and clenched his fists, his whole demeanour menacing.

"Wormwood, Saint John's wort, poultices of birch and ladies' bedstraw, crushed garlic cloves, willow bark, wolf's bane and senna." Bartholomew suddenly rattled off the long list, his eyes wide with alarm at the big Musketeer's aggressive stance.

"I know nothin' about medicines but it sounds too much to me," Porthos said, appealing to Aramis who groaned softly and nodded.

"Let me guess," Aramis began, his tone strangely flat. "You gave him the senna as a laxative and the hellebore as an emetic?"

Bartholomew nodded warily.

"I wonder at your doses. Too much of either of those can have serious consequences and mixed with the others? It can be disastrous," Aramis warned. "You gave him wormwood, no doubt for the fever, but that can induce vomiting as can the wolf's bane."

The lay brother looked genuinely worried.

"The Saint John's wort, birch and ladies' bedstraw were made into poultices?"

There was the nod again.

"You gave the willow bark for the pain but the wolf's bane as well? What about the crushed garlic?" Aramis could no longer hide his incredulity.

"I put that on the wound when I had stitched it. I needed to stop the bleeding, reduce the pain and help the healing process. Garlic is an aid against infection, but the wound showed all signs of that having set in already."

Aramis sighed. "I can see how you were trying to help him, but it was all too much too soon, and in those combinations …." his voice trailed off.

Porthos looked murderous but any outburst from him was avoided by the arrival of Anselm with two buckets of water and cloths.

"I will go and collect some more," the lay brother announced and promptly left again.

D'Artagnan and Theodore had completed their task in constructing makeshift walls around the bed from hanging blankets and sheets and awaited further instructions.

Aramis looked around at the lay brothers. "Thank you for your help. We will take over from here but do not go far in case we have need of you again. Actually," he added as an afterthought, "it is many hours since we have eaten so we would appreciate something for when our work is done."

"Of course," Theodore responded amiably. "We will address that at once," and he ushered his companions out.

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan. "You have a journey as soon as it is light. Rest now; use one of the other beds."

D'Artagnan's looked hurt. "But it's Athos and I want to help," he insisted. His expression changed into a frown. "I don't need protecting."

Aramis took a deep breath and wondered how tactfully he could explain his reasons. D'Artagnan was still relatively new to their group and what needed to be done now was intimate, intrusive even.

"I am not protecting you." He looked down at the figure on the bed. "I am protecting him. We all know what a private man he is. It is enough that I have to have assistance from Porthos, for if Athos has any awareness of what we are doing, he would be mortified."


	42. Chapter 42

_**Happy New Year to you all. May 2020 be generous to you and peaceful.**_

_**Thank you for reading and commenting upon the last chapter. **_

CHAPTER 42

It was a labour of love undertaken willingly and without hesitation. When Aramis and Porthos were left alone with their stricken brother, their work began.

Athos lay on his back, quiet and unmoving as Aramis cleaned the right side of his face, beard and hair.

Porthos reached for another cloth.

"You wash and I'll dry 'im," he said softly.

Aramis merely nodded his thanks as he stripped back the sheet to begin washing his friend's lower torso and legs, one small area at a time. He and Porthos worked on grimly, their silence broken only by muted words as Aramis asked Porthos to move a lifeless limb. From Athos himself, there was no response.

Aramis dare not communicate his fears to Porthos but his mind was racing. Extensive blood loss and the raging fever were dangerous enough in themselves but the blood-letting and purging to 'stabilise' Athos' humours could have devastating consequences in the man's already weakened state. Aramis did not approve of either medical practice but he knew there were many who still held with such methods.

He was further disturbed by the range of herbal remedies that had been given for he had no way of knowing how much and in what strength the medicines had been administered. What had they managed to get Athos to swallow before he finally lost all consciousness? Perhaps he had had subsequent periods of awareness even if he had not been lucid and Aramis was worried that the lay brothers had poured more concoctions down his throat in a desperate but misguided bid to help.

He continued to work as quickly as he could for he knew he needed to look at the wound and although he was filled with dread as to what he might find when he removed the dressing, at least it was something with which he felt he would be more familiar given his own experience in the field.

"Can you turn him on his right?" he asked.

Porthos nodded and easily rolled Athos on his side, watching his brother all the time for any sign of reaction. Surely the movement would elicit something - but there was nothing still.

Taking a deep breath, Porthos held him steady as Aramis gently washed the skin.

Eventually, their work completed, Porthos gave a wry grin. "He smells a whole lot sweeter now."

"He'll smell sweeter still when we get this dressing off and remove the garlic paste Bartholomew applied," Aramis said, beginning to worry at the soiled bandage with a pair of scissors. It, too, bore the stains of body waste and blood but it held a dressing in place which, as it soon became evident, was stuck to the wound itself.

Aramis leaned on the bed, both arms straight, and hung his head as he breathed heavily. Was nothing going to go in their favour – or Athos'?

Porthos let out a curse and railed against Bartholomew and his colleagues for incompetence.

"If the wound has wept, it could just have easily done so for me had I stitched it," Aramis said.

Porthos' fury erupted. "Why are you makin' excuses for them? What 'ave they done to help Athos? They seem to have done ev'rythin' wrong."

Aramis shook his head. "They have made mistakes, yes, but had they not done anything at all, not been here to take him in, he would have bled out and been dead before that first night was through. I know you are angry with them; I am too but showing that anger and apportioning blame is not going to get us anywhere, and it certainly is not helping Athos. There will come a time when I will address with Bartholomew what he has done, perhaps even show him the error of his ways so that he does not do the same to another but right now, I am only concerned with Athos."

"You are too forgiving," Porthos countered.

"No!" Aramis was adamant. "Not right now. I have said nothing of forgiveness, not yet and if Athos …" His voice trailed off.

"He's not goin' back in that room," Porthos declared.

"What?"

"That room. 'E's not goin' back into it."

Aramis was confused. "I don't …"

"You ordered that room to be cleaned," Porthos interrupted. "But he's not goin' back into that room. He's not dying!" Dark eyes suddenly misted with unshed tears and he dipped his head to conceal the obvious show of emotion but not before his friend had already seen it.

"Porthos, look at me!" Aramis ordered and refused to continue until Porthos complied. "I had thought to give Athos some privacy, a space where we could sit with him without interruption, but he will not go back into that room, I promise."

The big Musketeer sniffed and nodded his approval even as Aramis soaked a fresh cloth in cold water and applied it to the dressing to wet it. He alternated between carefully peeling the dressing back and wetting it again, rivulets of excess water running down the reddened skin of Athos' hip and dampening the sheet on which he lay.

Eventually the wound lay exposed and the Musketeer brothers stared at it in dismay. Porthos knew the standard of Aramis' stitchwork from personal experience; it was neat and minimalised the resultant scarring. This effort, although holding the wound together, was made up of large, irregular stitching that was guaranteed to leave a permanently ugly reminder of events.

More worrying was the angry, red flesh and signs of a messy discharge. How much of this could be explained by the smelly garlic poultice remained to be seen but there was definite infection beneath it, the cause of which could have been dirt in the wound from the ride, a thread of ripped clothing or, heaven forbid, from the soiled bed in which they had found Athos.

"It's going to be a long night," Aramis said, trying to eradicate the resignation from his tone.

D'Artagnan appeared in the opening between two hanging blankets and smothered a yawn. "What can I do? And don't tell me to go back to bed. I've been tossing and turning and listening to you talking quietly."

"Sorry," Aramis gave him a wan smile. "It would help if you went to the lay brothers and asked if they have any honey, as much as possible. I'm going to have to take out these stitches and start again."

The young man grinned, relieved at being allowed to do something at last. "I'm on my way," and he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Aramis crouched down, peered at and then gently touched the inflamed skin before covering one of Athos' limp hands with his own. "I will make you more comfortable, my friend, and then I need you to do something for me," he said softly to the unconscious Musketeer. "I need you to wake up so that you can drink some water and then you can scold me all you like for hurting you. I would even be satisfied with one of your most ferocious glares."


	43. Chapter 43

_**Thank you to readers and reviewers after yesterday's chapter. Today, Athos' condition continues to cause grave concern to his brothers.**_

CHAPTER 43

Time wore on as Aramis worked and Porthos assisted. Much to his chagrin, d'Artagnan had been sent back to bed and despite his determination to stay awake in case he was required again – he did not mind how menial the task if it were to help Athos – he finally slept, but not before he had lain in the darkness, straining to hear the content of the whispers between Porthos and Aramis, afraid to miss anything and convinced that they were not being open with him. Even they were speaking little though.

Aramis was concentrating hard upon his delicate task and, with the stitches removed, he applied honey to the wound. Porthos held a candle as close as possible to where he was working for the lay brothers had no lamps. He probed the long gash in the flesh as gently as he could and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that, at this juncture, Athos was not conscious for it would have been agonising. Satisfied that nothing detrimental remained in the wound, he flushed it out with water and patted the surrounding skin dry.

Straightening to ease the ache in his lower back from where he had bent over his brother, he took the needle that he laid out at the beginning of the process, held it in the candle flame until the heat threatened to burn his fingers and then dipped it into a glass of alcohol before threading it. Taking a deep breath, he bent low again over the supine figure and began sewing the edges of the skin together in his signature small stitches.

"Thank goodness the edges are not ragged," Aramis said, his relief evident.

"One clean cut," Porthos added objectively, trying to distract himself from the process by thinking more practically. "Too long for a stab, more like a slice."

"I agree. It does not explain how Athos came to be injured though. He would not have his guard down for an assailant to deliver a wound like that too easily."

"Unless he had been somehow disarmed."

Aramis shook his head. "Then he would have been dead."

"But perhaps he had lost his main gauche an' couldn't defend himself on that side." Porthos frowned. "Or maybe he was outnumbered an' one of 'em got in a lucky strike."

It was a chilling thought as to how close Athos had possibly come to being slain.

"He must have quite a story regarding how he escaped," Aramis added with a slight smile.

"It makes you wonder 'ow many of them there were an' how many of them 'e dispatched before they got 'im." Holding the candle steady, Porthos lay his other hand on the tousled curls of his unconscious brother. "I just want 'im to wake up an' tell us."

"You and me both," Aramis admitted with a wry grin as he attempted to alleviate their tension . "No doubt it is a tale of derring do. Trust Athos to have a grand adventure without us."

"We'll 'ave 'im recount it over a drink in _The Wren,_" Porthos added, his face brightening.

"Of course we will. D'Artagnan will be there to hear the story too."

"It'll be time to wake 'im before too long," Porthos noted. "Get 'im on the road to Paris with that information."

Aramis grew serious again. "I know he doesn't want to leave here, and I understand for he fears the worst, but the thought of Athos' efforts having been unnecessary galls me. He must not have endured all this for nothing. Tréville needs that list of names."

There was a lull in their conversation as Aramis put in the last few stitches. He tied off the last one and snipped the thread. He smeared more honey onto a newly folded dressing and picked up a roll of linen. "Done. Now let's get him bandaged."

Porthos raised Athos into a sitting position, manipulating and holding him steady as Aramis wound the linen around the lean hips to hold the dressing in place.

"We'll replace it again in a few hours," Aramis announced when they had finished. "Now to check his arms where they bled him."

Again he had to soak off the bandages, but things were not as bad as he had anticipated. The crook of one elbow was fine whilst the other was just beginning to show the first signs of infection. Cleaning it and applying more honey, he bound both elbows again.

Porthos had fallen unusually quiet and Aramis knew that he was mulling over things. No doubt there would be a question before too long.

"All done," Aramis declared. "Let's move him to the clean bed."

Nodding, Porthos scooped up Athos into his arms and crossed to the second bed. Aramis held back the sheet and blanket until its occupant was settled comfortably and then covered him up to his chest.

Together, they set about gathering up soiled cloths and discarded bandages and moving buckets of bloodied water out of the way.

Having done all they could, they drew up chairs, one on either side of the bed, and sat down to keep a careful watch over their charge. Periodically, Aramis soaked cloths in the one remaining bucket of clean, cold water and wrung them out to wipe Athos' hot skin in the hope that it would cool him.

Suddenly he stood.

"Take over for me, please. I want to find their medical store to see what they've got. I somehow do not think we are going to get a sensible answer regarding how much they've given him. I might be able to ascertain the strength though."

He was not gone long.

"Any help to you?" Porthos asked, concentrating as he lay the wet, cold cloth on Athos' forehead.

"Bartholomew was correct; they have very little of anything, including what they have been giving to Athos. It told me nothing."

It was after five in the morning when Anselm silently appeared, bearing yet another bucket of water fresh from the well and setting it beside Aramis, replacing the one that had warmed to room temperature. Aramis nodded his thanks, but Anselm had more news.

"The innkeeper arrived with a horse and cart a little while ago. He said you had asked for one. Robert has stabled the animal alongside yours."

"Is Dupuis still here?" Aramis queried.

"Yes, we are giving him some food before he leaves. He had the foresight to borrow a horse for the return journey; he had tied it to the back of the cart."

"Tell him to reassure the owners that we will return it, but we have need of it for a few days."

Anselm dipped his head in acknowledgement and left them alone again.

"You're waitin' until Athos' fever's broken before movin' 'im." It was a statement rather than a question but Porthos frowned when Aramis did not immediately respond. "Aren't you?"

Aramis quickly looked about him as if searching for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. "We could wait days before this fever breaks, bearing in mind how long he has been in its grip already. I want to get him back to Paris as soon as possible."

"Why?" Porthos demanded. "Surely there's a risk the journey will kill him, given how bad he is right now?"

Aramis chewed on his bottom lip, exhaustion lining his features.

"Aramis?" Porthos persisted. "Could he die if we move him too soon?"


	44. Chapter 44

_**Greetings, all. Thank you for reading and reviewing the last chapter.**_

_**So will the brothers risk moving Athos?**_

CHAPTER 44

I

"Yes, it is possible that Athos could die on the journey," Aramis said softly. "It is also possible that he could still die when we reach Paris, but it is _probable_ that he would die if we remain here."

Porthos opened his mouth to object but Aramis continued.

"He has a better chance if we get him back to the garrison and a physician can be summoned. I have done all I can, Porthos. I may have more understanding than the lay brothers, but I lack the knowledge for his current condition and nothing you say can change that. It is a relief that he is unconscious for at least he is in no pain; if he were, I would not know what to give him."

"You have things with you," Porthos insisted.

"Some limited supplies, yes, but when I do not know how much of anything he has already had and in what strength, I dare not give him anything more even if he were awake. The longer the time that passes, the certainty grows that whatever it is will have worked its way through his system. It may already have done so or he has totally ejected it, but I have no way of knowing that and, I confess, it frightens me."

"'E's a fighter," Porthos went on.

Aramis managed a little smile. "Yes, he is, and in my head, I am telling myself that fact all the time, but he is also exceedingly weak and dehydrated from loss of blood and body fluids. This fever rages on and, whilst he is unconscious, we have no way of getting water into him to help him fight it."

"So what's your plan?"

"d'Artagnan will leave with the list at daybreak and we will follow at full light. We'll wrap Athos in blankets. I'll sit with him in the cart and you drive it. We can take our time and stop whenever we have need. We'll have to replenish water supplies as regularly as possible to ensure that it is cold. The fever could even break whilst we are on the move. Whatever happens, we should be able to reach Paris by nightfall."

Porthos grew thoughtful. "Can we not cool 'im in a stream? Bring down the fever that way?"

Aramis shook his head. "I would not dare take the risk. The shock of water that is too cold could be too much for his heart. Something else I am not sure about," he added when Porthos looked defeated.

Within the hour, Porthos woke d'Artagnan who, after washing his face and breaking his fast with the bread and cheese Theodore provided, saddled his horse and prepared to depart.

The other two Musketeers briefly left Athos' side to say farewell to their young friend.

Aramis stroked the horse's neck absent-mindedly as he gazed up at d'Artagnan. "We have no reason to suspect further danger but be aware that Athos' attackers might be out there somewhere. We do not know whether they were pursuing him for the information he had, if they were opportunist thieves, or if any of them actually survived their encounter with Athos, but you must look after yourself. It is imperative that Tréville gets that list of names."

"I'll be careful," the Gascon agreed. "I will see you at the garrison before this day is out," and he glanced worriedly at the door to the infirmary. "All three of you."

Aramis nodded and stepped back as Porthos slapped the horse's flank, motivating it to move. They watched as d'Artagnan walked the animal out through the gateway spurred it into a gallop and was gone.

"Now we will have some food and make ready the patient for our own journey," Aramis said solemnly.

II

The ride was uneventful and, by pushing his horse hard, d'Artagnan made good time, entering the garrison's yard shortly after noon. His speed surprised him a little until he recalled that they had stopped many times along the way the before to ask after riders answering Athos' description and that the weather had deteriorated. Now the sky was cloudless and the day not too hot so that the following cart should not have conditions that were too onerous.

"Captain!" he called out before he had even dismounted.

Tréville was on the balcony watching the sparring practice in the yard below him. He was taking advantage of the warm fresh air, having been at the palace all morning with the King and the Cardinal, going over revised plans for the Versailles trip.

He looked towards the archway, as if searching for the other _Inseparables, _the disappointment evident when he realised that they were not there. It gave D'Artagnan time to race up the stairs and stand beside him.

"Where are the others? Why do you ride alone? What news" Tréville demanded, striding back into his office with the young man in his wake

"They sent me ahead. We found Athos last night and he had a list of noble's names." He paused to pull the paper out of a pocket and handed it over. As Tréville unfolded it and read what was written there, he listened as d'Artagnan continued his account. "They are following with a cart and will be here by nightfall, all being well."

Tréville frowned and interrupted. "A cart? Athos is hurt?"

D'Artagnan nodded and summarised what had happened after he, Porthos and Aramis left the garrison, how they had located their missing brother and the state in which they had found him. His voice caught as he stressed the seriousness of Athos' condition. "They need you to summon a physician for their return," he concluded.

Tréville slumped down into his chair, numb with the realisation that what he had feared all along had come to pass.

"He will receive the best possible care," he declared gruffly. "Do we know anything of his attackers? Or anything more regarding this list? He has made additional marks by names, but I do not understand their significance."

"No to both," the younger man answered. "He has not regained consciousness whilst we have been with him. The list was hidden in his saddle and, given the inclusion of titles with names, we presumed this was the list he had compiled. That being the case, Aramis insisted that I bring it to you as quickly as possible.

Tréville nodded and stood. "You must eat and rest a little after that ride. I am going to the palace to see Richelieu immediately with this information and will alert the physician before coming back. I shall be here for when the others return, and we will be ready."

He led the way to the door and then paused to look directly at the Gascon. "Thank you, d'Artagnan. You have done well. I appreciate that it cannot have been easy leaving the others, but it was the right thing to do. Athos has risked much to get this information for us."


	45. Chapter 45

_**Dear all, thank you for reading and reviewing yesterday's chapter. I must apologise for the little errors that slipped through (like missing punctuation) yesterday. I do **__**read things through but I always manage to miss something so I'm hoping this chapter is more accurate!**_

CHAPTER 45

I

"I will have my own physician attend upon him," Louis insisted when Tréville had finished recounting to the King what had happened to Athos. "He will accompany you to the garrison and wait in readiness for the return of your men." He chuckled. "We have no plans to require his services for the rest of the day, but should the need arise, we shall know where to find him."

The King's features darkened suddenly. "Do any of the names surprise you, Armand?"

Tréville had already apprised the Cardinal of events. They had spent some time comparing Athos' list with the one they had previously compiled before seeking another audience with the King to present him with the evidence.

"No, Your Majesty," Richelieu reassured him. "Always assuming that the Musketeer has given us a complete and accurate record, I am pleased to announce that there are several names we can strike from our list."

"Thank goodness for that, Cardinal! Do you mean to say that we do not have to suspect the greater portion of our nobles?" Louis may have been smiling as he spoke but there was no hiding the fear in his eyes. The prospect of many whom he had trusted actively plotting against him had filled an easily nervous man with utter terror. The news that some of his nobles were not traitorous brought marginal relief.

"There is still a sufficient number, Sire, but it does not conflict with the little information provided by your brother yesterday," the Cardinal continued.

Gaston had waited until the morning to give the three men a heavily truncated version of what L'Hernault had told him about the meeting near Troyes. He had made no mention of the nobleman with the assumed name for there was no need. It was obviously a private and historic matter between the man and L'Hernault and was therefore irrelevant. Besides, Gaston had no knowledge of a Musketeer infiltrating the meeting on behalf of Louis and L'Hernault was ignorant of Athos' new life in the King's regiment so they could not have made any worrying associations.

It was enough that Richelieu and Tréville had held their collective breath hoping that Louis would not divulge the truth about having sent a Musketeer to the gathering but, for once, he exercised absolute discretion and did not give away any advantage they held.

Gaston had furnished them with the identities of some nobles, but they assumed, correctly, that he was being selective as to the names he disclosed, and they were even more convinced that he was holding back on other matters. They desperately needed Athos to wake to confirm or correct what they knew and add what Tréville expected to be his own detailed report. Whilst the Captain was grateful for the promised services of the King's physician, he suspected it was offered more to gain the information Athos carried rather than genuine concern for the Musketeer's wellbeing.

Their suspicions regarding Gaston's news were heightened when they expressed a desire to question his informant further.

"I must apologise, brother, but my man stayed only as long as it took him to impart his news and then he departed for his own estate. Some pressing business, I understand."

It was all very convenient, especially when Gaston appeared to suffer a lapse in memory and could not recall the location of L'Hernault's estate. He was also reticent about naming the noble who was working for him.

Now, just over a day later, they were in possession of a far more reliable list, thanks to Athos' efforts. At the moment, as far as the King was concerned, the Musketeer could do no wrong and the Captain had to bite his tongue from reminding the monarch that he had sentenced the soldier to an ignominious death on the flimsiest of evidence only weeks earlier. Perhaps, Tréville thought, trying to be generous, Louis' provision of his own physician was his way of making an apology.

"Is any adjustment necessary to our plans?" Louis asked, not keen on repeating the time-consuming meeting they had held that morning.

"I think not, Your Majesty," Tréville reassured him. "We have covered many eventualities as it is; our existing strategies will suffice. The plotters have to be seen to take some kind of action to incriminate themselves fully. Naturally, we will intervene before any real danger can befall you, Sire."

Richelieu cleared his throat. "And there is the matter of your brother, Your Majesty. At which point do we reveal our knowledge of his part in this treachery and, more to the point, what will his punishment be? This is not the first time the Duc has acted against you, Sire, and you demonstrated admirable restraint before; nay, even a mercy beyond that which was expected. It would be understandable if you chose not to show such clemency again."

A heavy silence filled the room and Tréville hardly dared breathe as the King looked at the First Minister in horror. It was clear that this time, Richelieu would press for Gaston's execution.

II

"Porthos, stop!" Aramis yelled to make himself heard above the rumble of the cart.

It was early afternoon and they were making good progress towards Paris, despite coming to a halt at least four times to water the horses. The three Musketeer mounts – for they had brought Athos' animal with them – were tethered to the back of the cart. It also gave Aramis the opportunity to replenish the water skins with the fresh, cold water that he continued using in a vain attempt to cool Athos. The fever resolutely refused to break.

Terrified that a chill would add to Athos problems, Aramis had wrapped him in two blankets, laid him on a third in the straw-covered cart bed and covered him with a fourth. He repeatedly reached to feel the hot dry skin, hoping that there would be a change and fighting the disappointment when nothing noticeable had occurred.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Porthos said, twisting in his seat to look behind him even as he reined the horse in so that the cart stopped abruptly, nearly toppling Aramis as he scrambled from a sitting position to kneel beside Athos. "Is he worse?"

"No!" Aramis could not hide his excitement. "I could have sworn I heard him moan when you hit that rut."

If Aramis were correct, it was the first sign of life their friend had shown since they found him, and the marksman's anticipation was infectious. Porthos clambered over the back from his seat to join them.

"Athos?" Aramis leaned in close and was rewarded by another low groan. "Athos, can you hear me?"


	46. Chapter 46

_**Greetings, everyone. Thank you for the responses to yesterday's chapter. Slightly longer chapter tonight as I did not want to rush it. I have read this one carefully and hope no errors have slipped through.**_

_**So, is Athos waking up?**_

CHAPTER 46

I

"Athos?" Aramis tried again as he saw rolling eye movement beneath his friend's closed lids. "Can you hear me? Grip my hand if you can hear me!" He took Athos' nearest hand in his and repeated the instruction.

The wait was a torture in itself but then he was rewarded as, barely perceptibly, the fingers twitched and curled weakly about his.

"That's it," he encouraged and, as both he and Porthos watched, Athos' unfocused eyes opened a little.

"Hello!" Aramis greeted with a broad, silly grin. "It's about time you came back to us."

Even as he spoke, Athos blinked hard and his brow creased into a frown. No sound emerged as his lips formed a word; Aramis' name.

"Yes, it's me. Porthos is here too. We've found you and we're taking you home. Paris should be in view within an hour," Aramis explained as Porthos, at the mention of his name, shifted position so that he might be seen by his stricken brother.

For Athos, in his fevered state, there was only confusion and his face crumpled as he emitted a low keening sound. Shaking his head, he managed to whisper some disjointed, monosyllabic words, finishing with what might have been a sob but was nothing more than a croak. He was too dehydrated to shed a tear.

"No, no," Aramis corrected him urgently, hoping that he guessed correctly at what had initiated the distress, although Porthos was obviously puzzled. "We're here; we're real. This is my hand holding yours. Feel it," and he squeezed his brother's hand gently with the one hand whilst he stroked a burning cheek with the other. "This is me, I promise you. We're going home," he reiterated desperately.

He could not know if his words provided the much-needed comfort as Athos' eyes slid shut and his head rolled sideways.

"Aramis?" Porthos panicked.

"He's lost consciousness again," Aramis said, feeling the feeble pulse in Athos' wrist.

Porthos breathed out heavily. "What was that all about? I couldn't hear what 'e was tryin' to say."

"If I understood him correctly, he saw us and did not believe we were real. I think he believed he was hallucinating."

"Someone's goin' to pay for this," Porthos growled, venting his anger and helplessness.

"Someone will," Aramis vowed, although neither was in a position to say who they were going to hold responsible, how they were going to locate them and what might happen once those offenders were apprehended, but if the vague threat afforded them some consolation miles from Paris, they were satisfied.

"It's a good sign that 'e woke up though, isn't it?" Porthos asked, his eyes filled with hope and longing.

"Yes," Aramis lied. He was not going to dash Porthos' optimism by citing the countless times he had tended someone in the aftermath of battle, where they had woken and appeared lucid, only to fall insensible again and linger on for days in that state before breathing their last.

"'E just wasn't with it long enough to get 'is thoughts together," Porthos continued, more for his own benefit that anyone else's. He smiled down at his brother. "There are no more dyin' rooms, Athos," he declared.

Aramis reached across and laid a hand on the big man's shoulder. "No more dying rooms," he repeated. "Whatever happens, Porthos, he is not alone. We've found him and we're taking him home. We are together as we should be." He could not disguise the catch in his voice.

II

Tréville could not settle to his work.

He had returned from the palace with the King's physician, another new man of mature years whose name he had already forgotten. Louis persisted of late in selecting old men who tended him and the court briefly before retiring because of their own ill-health or having the temerity to actually die during their employment. The Captain knew nothing of this man's experience and reputation and could only hope that he had some understanding of battle wounds and resultant fevers. True, it was not a war situation, but Athos had had to battle for his life against one or more assailants.

The only solace was that Louis must have some confidence in the man to allow him to treat the royal person. No doubt the Cardinal would also have had a hand in checking the man's credentials to ensure that he was suitable.

Tréville had left the man in the infirmary with d'Artagnan. The Gascon was frantic with worry and it was clear that he needed a productive distraction so he had been tasked with aiding the physician, ensuring that everything was made ready, laying a fire in the hearth, setting out spare linens and liaising with Serge for buckets of cold and hot water, as well as procuring refreshments for their guest.

Once Aramis and Porthos returned with the injured Musketeer, there would be very little time for pleasantries.

From his office, Tréville had listened to the sounds of the garrison below his open window and whenever there was a lull or any change, he was out of the room and on his balcony, expecting to see the cart being driven through the archway and into the yard.

Restless, he went to the infirmary and searched hard for anything remiss, but d'Artagnan and the physician – what was the damned man's name? – had everything in order and they, too, sat in restless anticipation.

Next, he skirted the men training in the yard, watching their every move and picking them up on the slightest error, admonishing them when he thought they were being lackadaisical.

Then he realised that he was being unreasonable and muttered an apology unheard by anyone as he turned on his heel, went to go back to the infirmary, thought better of it and decided to invade Serge's kitchen instead. The men stopped and observed his departure but bore no resentment at his hard words for they knew him well and understood that their Captain was consumed by worry – and when he worried, so did they.

Word had spread after d'Artagnan's arrival and they knew that a desperately injured Musketeer was being brought home. It could not fail to affect them all. They did not know why Athos had been sent on a mission on his own, but it was enough that he had gone, and they had seen first-hand the impact upon his brothers and the Captain. The task was serious therefore and many had speculated on a link between his absence and the preparations for the forthcoming exodus to Versailles with its increased security.

Quickly banished from the kitchen by a short-tempered Serge, Tréville was now back at his desk and reading the document in front of him for the third time. Its content was making very little sense because of his lack of concentration.

At the sound of swift footsteps coming up the stairs and along the balcony outside the office, he looked up and was suddenly aware of the late-afternoon shadows lengthening in the room. Where had the time gone?

A brusque knock on the door was simultaneous with its opening and Claude, a seasoned Musketeer, stood at the threshold.

"Incoming," he announced and was gone again.

That one word was all Tréville needed. It was the sign that the guards on the gate had seen returning Musketeers appear on the road that led to the garrison. His chair scraped back, sounding loud upon the wooden floor as he leaped to his feet and hurried out of the room.

He took the stairs two at a time and had reached the hard-packed earth as the cart emerged through the gateway and came to a halt. In an instant, he took in the scene before him. Porthos, grim-faced, was jumping down from his seat and striding to the rear of the cart where Aramis moved. Other men were untethering the soldiers' horses and leading them away to give ease of access to the cart.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and Tréville took a deep breath as he stepped forward to the cart, his legs leaden as he feared what he would find.

Had Athos survived the journey?


	47. Chapter 47

_**Many thanks to all who read and left comments on the last chapter.**_

_**At last, they all back in the sanctuary that is both the garrison and home.**_

CHAPTER 47

The yard fell silent as the men watched Aramis and Porthos carefully manoeuvre their fallen brother towards the edge of the cart. Nothing of Athos was visible as he was so swathed in blankets and none of the onlookers dared voice the question that was uppermost in their minds.

Tréville's chest tightened as he watched Porthos lift the unresisting load into his arms with ease. Aramis had jumped down to stand beside the big Musketeer and their faces were grave. The Captain had to know the worst and blocked Porthos' route anywhere as his eyes flitted from the motionless bundle to the face of the man holding his burden so carefully.

"Well?" Tréville asked. It was little more than a whisper and was imbued with the desperation that ate at him.

"He's still with us," Porthos ground out.

With a ragged sigh of relief, the Captain reached out for the edge of the outermost blanket, his hand visibly shaking as he peeled it back to reveal the face of the young man whom he had made his second only months earlier. Athos was deathly pale so that his dark hair, long lashes and beard presented more of a stark contrast than usual. To the casual onlooker, he might already be dead because it was clearly an unnatural sleep.

Briefly, Tréville raised a hand and let it graze Athos' cheek, feeling the intense heat of the dry, parchment-like skin. The Captain snapped to his senses and stepped aside to allow Porthos to move.

"Quickly, into the infirmary," Tréville ordered. "All is ready, and the King's physician is waiting."

There were so many things he wanted to ask but knew he would have his answers in time. The most important thing now was to settle Athos and let him be examined so he quickly introduced the Musketeers to the physician, Carveau. There was a nodded acknowledgement from the three.

"He's naked," Tréville said unnecessarily as Aramis unwrapped the blankets around Athos so that Porthos could set him down in the clean bed.

"The lay brothers had given away any of his clothing that was free from blood," Aramis explained. He folded the rough blankets neatly and cast them aside on a neighbouring bed. They had been scratchy and not ideal against Athos' skin, but they had served their purpose. "They did reclaim his boots though; I found them in the straw in the cart after we set off this morning."

The physician was peeling back the dressing over the wound in Athos' side.

"d'Artagnan here has told me much of what has happened to this young man," the physician, "but I would also like to hear it in your own words. I gather you are the Musketeer with the medical knowledge, Aramis."

So Aramis gave his own succinct account of Athos' condition when they found him, the divers medication administered by the lay brothers during their ill-advised treatment, how he dare not give anything else even had Athos been conscious to take any more, and concluded with what he had done to re-open the wound, clean it and re-stitch it, adding that he had frequently applied more honey and changed the dressing several times in the intervening hours.

"It is the fever that concerns me most at the moment," Aramis admitted. "It has lasted at least three days that we are aware. We have used cold compresses, but I would not use a cold bath as a remedy."

"Quite right; he is not strong enough to withstand the shock, but we could try a tepid one."

Aramis' eyes widened with hope. "Do you think it might work?"

"We lose nothing in the attempt. Whilst he remains unconscious, we cannot get the much-needed fluids inside him," Carveau asserted. "Has he sweated at all?"

Aramis shook his head. "I presumed the purging and bloodletting had already taken their toll."

"Very likely. Has the fever produced any seizures?" the physician asked, brow furrowed as he assimilated what he had been hearing.

"No," Aramis assured him, "but the one occasion he spoke to us, he was very confused."

"Hallucinating?"

"I believe so," Aramis answered.

Carveau thought for a moment. "You have done everything I would have recommended, Aramis. I am sure that your brother still lives because of your prompt action and care."

It was small consolation but brought a winsome smile to the faces of the four Musketeers gathered in the room.

"We will try the bath," Carveau decided and Tréville, thankful at last for being able to do something constructive, went to the door and shouted a string of instructions to anyone still in the yard beyond.

Within minutes, men were hefting in a bath and positioning it in the middle of the room as other Musketeers created a human chain to pass buckets of hot and cold water from the kitchen and well to the infirmary. Carveau and Aramis mixed them together, testing the temperature at regular intervals until it and the water depth were deemed satisfactory.

"Line it with a sheet," Carveau instructed and, as d'Artagnan complied, Porthos and Aramis worked together to lift Athos and gently lower him into the bath they had prepared.

"Can you support him, Porthos?" Aramis asked. "We don't want him to slip beneath the surface." Using his hands, he cupped water and poured it over Athos' chest and shoulders.

"How long should we do this for?" d'Artagnan wanted to know.

"Until the water is much cooler; cold even," Carveau said. "No sense in adding more hot. Then dry him thoroughly - we do not want him catching a chill now - and dress that wound again. If the fever does not break, repeat the process every two hours."

"This is getting' familiar," Porthos quipped a few minutes later as he rubbed at a lifeless arm with a cloth. Athos had been lifted from the water and laid on a sheet on a separate bed so that he could be dried. D'Artagnan was nervously wiping the legs as Aramis tended the wound in Athos' side.

Once the task was completed, Athos was transferred to his bed and covered to his chest. Carveau stood to one side with Tréville and supervised proceedings.

"You have done well. There is nothing more that I can do now so I shall return to the palace. I will be back in the morning to check upon the patient, but you must send for me immediately if he worsens. You know what you are doing. When the fever breaks – and I have faith that it will before the night is out – be ready for when he wakes. Get as much water into him as you can whenever he opens his eyes. Chamomile will help keep that fever at bay and feed him. A simple broth would suffice to begin with for the next battle after that fever breaks is to get nourishment into him and rebuild his strength. Only then will we see that wound begin to heal."

The men said their thanks and goodnight, and Tréville led the physician into the yard, insisting that he be permitted to have some of his men escort Carveau back to the palace.

"'E looks comfortable at least," Porthos said, nodding to where Athos lay.

Aramis allowed himself a low chuckle at long last and he pulled up a chair to sit beside his brother. The physician's words had both encouraged him and provided a much-needed hope.

"I suggest we do like-wise," he said, lowering his own tired body onto the chair, "and make ourselves comfortable for a while. It's going to be another long night and it's only just over an hour before we have to repeat the bath procedure all over again."


	48. Chapter 48

_**Greetings! Thank you to all readers and reviewers for the last chapter.**_

_**So, what about that wretched fever?**_

CHAPTER 48

Aramis' assumption that they were likely to face a long night proved to be an understatement. Twice more the soldiers of the garrison, all volunteers through the late night hours, fed the fire in the kitchen to keep the water hot, restocked the wood basket in the infirmary to keep the room warm, emptied and then refilled the bath so that the _Inseparables_ could concentrate upon tending their own.

Tréville was never far away, ensuring that tasks were done to make life easier for Aramis and his brothers, but he soon realised that his supervision was unnecessary for the men – his men - carried out their work with quiet efficiency. He wished that they would make more noise, that a spoken word, the thud of an empty wooden bucket on the floor, the latch of the door or even a cough would penetrate Athos' awareness and that he would finally begin to stir.

So he remained unobtrusively in the background, not wanting to intrude as he perched on a table where Aramis had laid out spare dressings and bandages to use after each bath. He watched and he waited, unable to drag himself away from the activity and knowing that he could never rest whilst the battle against Athos' fever – perhaps for life itself - played out in the infirmary. Aramis and Porthos had easily slipped into a care regimen, knowing intuitively what each was about to do. Their words were reserved only for Athos as they maintained a low commentary, explaining to their insensible brother what they were doing for and to him, constantly reassuring him, anxious not to cause him any additional discomfort as they manhandled him yet again into and out of the bath. Aramis soaked him gently with the tepid water and Porthos dried him with a tenderness that had Tréville's breath catching. Few were privileged to see this side of the powerfully built Musketeer with his big hands and strength that could fell an opponent with one well-directed blow.

The Captain turned his attention to d'Artagnan. It had been a surprise when the established trio had quickly assimilated him within their tight-knit group, especially after his accusation against Athos as murderer, but his subsequent efforts to set aside his bereavement to assist the others in proving Athos' innocence had stood him in good stead and earned their undying gratitude and respect.

It was still early days in their relationship but he was responding to their combined tutelage and there was no doubting his growing fondness and admiration for Athos as his mentor, eager to please him at every turn as the vastly superior swordsman honed the Gascon's existing skills with the weapon.

Now, though, the boy looked lost, fearful at the sight of the man whom he held in such high esteem brought so low. Athos had been silent and still for far too long so that even Tréville found it unsettling. He was used to the younger man's economy of movement and words but the apparent hovering between this world and the next proved too much and he longed to see a disgruntled roll of the eyes, hear a frustrated sigh and witness the casual stance as Athos leaned against a wall with arms folded across his chest, listening to some valuable information.

D'Artagnan had helped after the first bath but now he seemed withdrawn, afraid to make physical contact with Athos and content to leave the care to Porthos and Aramis. Perhaps, like Tréville, he thought his presence would be intrusive so, frowning, he busied himself with maintaining the fire to dry dampened sheets, disposing of soiled dressings, plumping the pillows and smoothing the coverlet before Athos was replaced in the cot.

It was nearly midnight and they were trying to motivate themselves for the fast-approaching fourth bath when the change came.

The men had fallen silent. Tréville remained in his place in the shadows, Porthos was fighting the sleep that tried to claim him whilst Aramis sat, hands clasped together, head bowed, and eyes closed in prayer. It was d'Artagnan, slightly removed from the tableau around the bed, who noticed it first and edged forward to check if his eyes were deceiving him.

"Aramis!" His urgent whisper alerted all three men. "Is Athos sweating?"

Immediately, Aramis was on his feet and bending over his stricken brother as Porthos snapped awake and moved a candle closer.

There was no doubting it. A sheen of sweat coated Athos' skin, his hairline was damp, and more moisture gathered at his throat. His breathing, which before had been shallow and silent, was now more pronounced and audible as if panting. Grasping a limp hand in one of his, Aramis found it clammy. He laid the back of his other hand against Athos' brow first, then his cheek and neck.

"The fever's breaking," he gasped.

Now they were galvanised into renewed action as they spent the next hours sponging him down.

"Do you want to change his bed?" d'Artagnan asked at one point, grimacing in distaste as his hand came into contact with the sodden sheet.

Aramis shook his head. "Not much point when he's sweating like this. We'll wait until the fever's completely broken."

"An' you thought 'e hadn't got the fluid in 'im to sweat!" Porthos quipped, remembering what Aramis had said to the physician in the late afternoon.

"Well, even I can make mistakes," Aramis dared to joke, such was his relief that the terrible fever was at last breaking.

As the first fingers of dawn began to lighten the Paris sky, the mood within the infirmary was ebullient despite their exhaustion.

All four of them, Tréville included, had been involved and now, with the detritus of the night's struggle nowhere to be seen and the bath removed to its proper place in the garrison's bath house, they could at last relax. The fever had broken completely, and they had cleaned Athos for what they hoped was the last time.

With the bed changed, he was resting, his sleep natural and breathing pattern returned to normal. Aramis seemed to distrust the evidence of his own eyes and periodically laid a hand on Athos' brow to reassure himself that the temperature was as it should be and had not threatened to spike again. He redressed the wound, applying more honey and dared to believe that even that did not seem to be so angry. His final task had been to rebind the arms where the lay brothers had practised their blood-letting skills.

"And now we leave him to sleep and heal," Aramis announced with a smile and a lighter heart, flopping down onto the nearest chair.


	49. Chapter 49

_**Thank you to the legion of readers over the past couple of days and to those who have left reviews. **_

_**It appears Athos has at last begun upon the slow road to recovery but the cloud that is Versailles looms large.**_

CHAPTER 49

I

"Your man needs to wake up. We need his information urgently," Richelieu said gruffly when Tréville imparted the good news to the Cardinal and King that Aramis and Porthos had at last arrived safely with Athos the previous afternoon. It had been a worrying evening and for much of the night, but he was pleased to report that there had been a change for the better since then. It also gave the Captain the opportunity to thank Louis once again for sparing Carveau to tend the Musketeer.

The physician had been as good as his word and had already visited the garrison earlier that morning to check upon Athos' condition. He was genuinely delighted at the evident progress and nothing would deter him from believing in a full and swift recovery once Athos started taking sustenance. His words were spread rapidly amongst all the soldiers who anxiously awaited news and did much to encourage them. He confirmed Aramis' impression that the wound was not so inflamed and urged him to continue his ministrations for they were gaining the upper hand in the fight against the infection at last.

"Now, now, my dear Cardinal," the King scolded Richelieu gently. "Some sympathy would not go amiss at this time. I could have lost a very valuable man during this little adventure!"

Tréville bit his tongue and resisted the urge to hit his head repeatedly against the nearest wall. He would hardly have described Athos' risky fact-finding experience as a 'little adventure' but at least the King seemed to appreciate his efforts at last. Louis' belated acknowledgement that Athos was 'very valuable' paled into insignificance though when compared with what the Captain and his brothers would have endured had they lost him.

Nothing, however, could detract from the elation he felt now that Athos was improving, and the King's admonishment of Richelieu added a frisson of satisfaction. He was impatient for them to conclude their business so that he could get back to the garrison as quickly as possible. Nothing new had come to light about the proposed insurrection of the nobles since Gaston's report from his informant two days before. Everything was in place for the Versailles trip and they were only revisiting details to check and double check. Any necessary changes now rested solely upon any additional information that Athos might hold and the explanation of the markings he had made on his list.

There was nothing to clarify things for Tréville and he had spent a lot of time puzzling over the document. More than once in the past he had tried to think like his lieutenant, sometimes succeeding, but any interpretation of these particular scribbles defeated him. It was only a matter of time before Athos awoke but would he even remember the significance of the marks? Tréville tried to brush aside this new concern.

II

Mid-morning found him entering the infirmary with a lighter spring in his step and carrying a pile of papers on top of which an ink bottle was precariously balanced. The quill was clenched tightly between his teeth. He cut a surprisingly comic figure but Porthos darted across the room to relieve him of some of what he held.

He removed the quill and gestured with it towards Athos. "How is he?"

"Still sleepin'," Porthos grumbled as he stood in the middle of the room holding Tréville's items.

"I told you not to be so impatient," Aramis said from his seat beside the bed. Tréville was convinced that the marksman had not have moved from the position since before dawn. "I keep telling you that the sleep is aiding his recovery."

"And that is what you three need as well," Tréville declared, retrieving a small table from the other side of the room and placing it beside Aramis. He shooed him off the chair and repositioned it at the table and then relieved Porthos of what he carried.

"Off with you. Get some rest," he continued as they stared at him open-mouthed. "I will sit with him until you return."

"But ..." Aramis began.

Tréville sat down and rearranged the papers. "That's an order. Whilst he sleeps, there is nothing to do for him and I can just as easily work here as in my office." He looked up at the three. "Why are you still here?"

Porthos and d'Artagnan did not need telling again and were heading towards the door, mumbling something about Serge and food. It was only Aramis who hesitated.

"If he should wake …" His voice trailed off.

"You think I cannot cope with an injured man? When he wakes, I will give him water and I see in the hearth that you are keeping a pot warm. No doubt it is the broth the physician ordered. I will make sure that he has something."

"I have prepared a mixture for the pain, should he need it. One dose is in the cup but do not give him any more from the bottle that stands beside it." All the medication Athos had been given by the lay brothers should have left his system by now, but it had left Aramis feeling very wary.

"I would not dream of it," Tréville reassured him, appreciating the origin of Aramis' concerns. "Now go!"

But Aramis still stood there, uncertain.

Tréville softened. "There are enough empty cots in here. Rest yourself on one of those. Then you will be nearby should I need to wake you for help or advice."

He knew Aramis well, the level of care he provided for the sick and injured and the reluctance to relinquish any responsibility he shouldered, especially when it came to tending one of his brothers.

"It has been a …" and Tréville paused, searching for a suitable word, "fearful time, a stressful time, but you have brought him safely home. He _will _recover but neither Athos nor I will be happy if you make yourself ill in the process."

He watched, relieved, as Aramis nodded submissively and, without a word, crossed to a cot and lay on it.

"We'll get some food, bring it back and then we'll settle too," d'Artagnan announced.

III

Two hours later and the only sounds to be heard within the infirmary were the scratching of Tréville's pen on paper and Porthos' gentle snores. There was the creak of a cot as d'Artagnan turned over, but he did not even stir. Aramis, utterly exhausted, had not moved a muscle since his head touched the pillow. He was asleep before the other two had a chance to return and the food they brought him was left untouched beside him.

Periodically, Tréville looked towards his injured lieutenant. They had rolled Athos onto his right side to alleviate any pressure on the long wound and to make it more easily accessible without disturbing him when Aramis wanted to check it. He was still pale - the man never had much colour in his face anyway – but Tréville persuaded himself that Athos looked relaxed, comfortable and was sleeping easily, his breathing soft and rhythmical. It was so far removed from his death-like stillness when the fever was at its height.

Tréville yawned and stretched. He had had less than three hours' sleep himself but that was a veritable treat after the previous days – no, weeks - of worry that had weighed him down since he watched the young Musketeer ride out of the garrison at the beginning of his journey south.

How long ago was it? The Captain did a quick calculation in his head. Today was actually the seventeenth day since Athos' departure and so much had happened in the interim. It was not over yet though, not by a long way, for there were still ten days left before the royal party left for Versailles. Ten long days in which anything might happen and who could possibly know what would occur once they arrived at the hunting lodge.

He had been lost in thought for several minutes, quill pen poised and dripping ink onto the document he was writing, when he developed the feeling that he was being watched. Turning his head, he scanned the room but Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan slept on. Tutting at the mess he had made on his paper, he was about to resume his work when he glanced towards Athos.

A pair of green eyes, perfectly focused, looked back at him.


	50. Chapter 50

_**Greetings and thank you SO much for the lovely comments.**_

_**So, dear Athos is awake at last but will he be able to tell Treville what he needs to know?**_

_**(Slightly longer chapter today as I did not want to interrupt their conversation and I really wanted to get to a specific point - of course! Can't wait to hear what you think!)**_

CHAPTER 50

Tréville smiled reassuringly and moved his chair closer to the bedside.

"Well now," he said. "It's good to have you back with us and, may I say, not before time." He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle Athos or to disturb the nearby sleepers.

Athos' head moved as if in a dip and he closed his eyes momentarily by way of response. He pursed his lips and ran a dry tongue over them.

"Some water?" Tréville asked.

There was the nod again.

Tréville stood. "We need to ease you over; it'll make drinking a little easier." Reaching for Athos' shoulders, he gently rolled him over to lie on his back, but it was enough to draw a pained gasp from the injured man.

"Sorry," the Captain muttered, picking up a jug that had been standing ready for the purpose and pouring water into a pewter cup. "Let's raise you a little," he suggested, slipping a hand between the pillow and Athos' head. "Not too much movement, don't want to pull on the muscles in your side now, do we?"

Athos' face suddenly clouded with confusion and Tréville wondered if he had any recollection of what had happened to him. If so, how much of the meeting near Troyes would still be in his mind?

"Just slow sips now," he instructed, holding the cup to Athos' lips and trying to mask his joy at the sight of the younger man taking some fluid, no matter how little.

Athos had only swallowed a few sips when he signalled that he had had enough by closing his eyes and giving a low grunt.

"That's a good start. More later, eh?" Tréville encouraged him, lowering his head back against the pillow and watching with satisfaction as Athos moistened his lips with his tongue.

Tréville set down the cup and leaned in close. "I'm sorry to do this to you now, but I need to ask you some questions. Can you hear me?"

As if in answer, Athos opened his eyes again and fixed his gaze upon the officer.

"We found a list concealed in your saddle. Is it naming the nobles you saw at the meeting?"

Athos blinked slowly.

"Is it a complete list?"

Another deliberately slow blink.

"Well done," Tréville praised him and lightly patted his shoulder. He was relieved that Athos was more lucid than he had at first thought but was yet to utter a coherent word.

"You made different marks against some of the names. Are they some sort of code? They meant nothing to me but are they of some significance to you?"

This time, Athos managed a definite nod. He took a deep breath, summoning up his strength to speak.

"Reminder." The word was little more than a rasping croak from the unused voice.

"A reminder to you of things when you got back here?" Tréville prompted, his heart leaping at the sound. Then he frowned, for there was no way to phrase his next question so that Athos could nod or shake his head in reply. "What kind of things?"

Athos' eyes slid shut again.

"Athos," Tréville said, a little more sharply than he wanted. "Stay with me, please. I need to know."

He hated himself for what he was doing for Athos was so weak and desperately in need of rest, but he held vital information and Tréville had to discover what that was.

Eyes fluttered open again and Tréville saw the struggle to focus.

"Men," Athos whispered. "Who's … 'portant … c'mitted." His breathing grew more pronounced as he struggled to form each word.

Tréville, more than ever, appreciated the young man's determination to deliver his report but knew that he would have to interpret the disjointed communication to make any sense of it.

"You've marked off those who are more important and involved in the plot?"

Athos nodded his confirmation and then his brow furrowed.

"Are you in any pain?" Tréville asked worriedly. "I have something here that Aramis prepared for you."

"No," Athos sighed, but then his eyes ranged over the part of the room that lay within his limited vision. "Others?"

The Captain knew that the 'others' to whom he referred were his brothers.

"They're here; you could not expect them to be anywhere else. They're sleeping. I ordered them to get some rest. It has been a long night after many long days. You gave us quite a scare."

"S'rry."

"No apologies needed. It is enough that they found you and brought you safely home to us."

There was a long pause.

"Gaston." Athos suddenly broke the silence.

Tréville straightened in his chair. "What about him?"

"Had …. a man…. there."

"We know. Gaston is at the palace and has been telling Louis his version of events," and Tréville quickly gave Athos a truncated version of what had been learned from the King's brother and the expectation that some or most of it conflicted with what Athos knew. He also explained about the discovery of the map that revealed the position of the Duc's force waiting near Versailles.

"Marks," Athos began again. "On list … men … promised …. to Gaston ….diff'rent …. numbers."

"It shows who is providing men and how many?" Tréville sought clarification. "But what are those numbers?" It was as if an icy hand gripped him. If those figures exceeded the combined force of the Musketeers and the Red Guard, the outcome could be a catastrophe for France.

"Have….to see ….list."

The original was back in the office and Richelieu held a copy that the Captain had drawn up for him.

"I will bring it with me next time," he assured Athos.

"Not all," Athos gasped out, becoming agitated in frustration. Tréville lay a hand upon his arm to calm him. "Not all …want a fight. Some …. per … pet…per." He gave up on the difficult word, a word in his extensive vocabulary that usually presented no problem. "Talk … V'sailles … King."

"Not all the nobles are keen upon fighting their King but want to petition him and talk with him. That's why they are coming to Versailles. Is that right?" The Captain was finding it easier to fill in the gaps of Athos' broken utterances.

"Gaston ….pushing."

Tréville huffed. "Why does that not surprise me?"

A thought struck the Captain. He looked swiftly around to ensure that the others were not waking and would hear him. His fingers tightened slightly around Athos' forearm.

"Were you recognised? Is that why this happened to you?"

Athos' eyes slid shut again briefly in acknowledgement. "Gaston's … man … L'Hernault."

"He did this to you?"

"No … three … men."

The effort to talk was exhausting Athos and it was becoming increasingly difficult to comprehend his breathy whispers.

"How do you know they were his men?"

"They … ad…ad." Athos gave up again and opted for something simpler. "Said."

"But why? Because you had adopted an identity? Did he think your subterfuge concealed something more serious? Sinister even?"

The sudden torrent of questions would be too much for Athos to respond to but Tréville was trying to find the reason for the violent attack that should have left the Musketeer dead. If they believed him to be a spy – which he was – why had L'Hernault not captured and interrogated him first to ascertain what he knew and gauge the threat that he presented?

"Revenge." The word was little more than a murmur but broke into the Captain's thoughts.

"Revenge?" Tréville repeated in disbelief. Of all the possible replies, this one was not what he had expected to hear and was a complication that they did not need. What was Athos embroiled in now?

"Hist'ry," Athos added.

"For something you did to him, or that he claims you did?"

"No." The denial was suddenly a clear, agonised groan, as if torn from Athos. This time, when he looked at Tréville, his eyes were filled with an indescribable misery. "My father."


	51. Chapter 51

_**Dear all, thank you so much to all the readers and those leaving comments. I love reading your speculation on what might happen next. Sometimes I wonder how you got to see my planning notes and occasionally, I confess, I think 'Ooh, that's an interesting possibility …'**_

_**This week has been quite overwhelming, and I apologise for the delay in responding individually to folk. I'm juggling time writing this with other writing projects, researching for the latter, still working on the house, enjoying time in the now-not-so-new kitchen trying loads of new recipes, crafting, and a plethora of cinema and theatre trips. Plus I have just picked up the director's mantle again for a short play. **_

_**Beeblegirl, another slightly longer chapter for you! (I know you want them longer still and I will get back to writing like that in other stories, promise!) If I've let any errors slip through, my apologies.**_

_**It's been a long time coming but, if you're still here at the end of this chapter, there's a little historical author's note at the end. You know me and etymology!**_

CHAPTER 51

I

"Your father? What do you mean, Athos? Athos?" Tréville gently shook the arm he was still holding but there was no response. Emotion and exhaustion combined forces to win the battle over Athos as he slipped further away into another deep sleep.

Tréville had learned much of what he wanted, although he was still lacking the finer points that the younger Musketeer would no doubt elaborate upon when he next awoke.

But it was this last, startling revelation that was of major concern to the Captain. On one level, it was an unfortunate complication that they did not need when they had so much else to occupy them and it crossed his mind that Athos' concentration would be divided in the days ahead, always assuming that he recovered sufficiently to leave for the King's hunting lodge.

No Musketeer should allow the personal to distract him from his duty. Tréville shook his head, refusing to accept that this latest difficulty might cause any shortcomings in Athos' duty to the King. Problems, not of Athos' making, might ensue if this L'Hernault were present at Versailles and realised that not only was Athos still very much alive despite efforts to the contrary, but that he was also one of the King's Musketeers.

Could there have been any occasion for L'Hernault or his men to discover this already? Was Tréville wrong in his earlier supposition and Athos _had _been questioned by Gaston's man? Had he suffered his injury at their hands then and somehow managed to escape, desperate to regain his freedom and fulfil his mission? Or had the men merely been sent in pursuit of the errant Comte de la Fère against whom L'Hernault bore a frightening grudge? And what had happened to any or all of these men? Athos would have put up a fierce fight even if he were outnumbered. Had any of them survived to give L'Hernault some kind of report? They must have thought Athos was dead so how had he managed to make his way to the lay brothers?

More to the point, did Gaston have any knowledge of this? The Captain and Richelieu had been so careful to feign ignorance of the nobles' meeting and not divulge that they had sent their own man there, whilst Athos had left behind any clothing that would proclaim his military link at the garrison; his pauldron still lay in a drawer in Tréville's office.

The Captain held his head in his hands and groaned. There was so much subterfuge going on that he was beginning to find it difficult to keep things straight in his head regarding who knew what and just what had to be concealed from someone else, and now there was this additional incident with Athos. How much would he be willing to reveal to his brothers? He needed their support to help maintain his safety. Would his hand be forced so that he had to explain the details of his true identity?

Somehow, Tréville doubted it. Athos would find a way to maintain another secret. He would shut down, retreat into himself, determined to sort out the problem on his own. The Captain could only hope that his recovery, the political tensions and the trip to Versailles would be enough to divert him, rather than resorting to the temporary solace of a bottle of wine or two. Perhaps, just perhaps, Athos might confide in him because he was aware of the young man's title. He knew precious little else, such as what had caused him to abandon his birth-right and estate. Whatever it was had left Athos seriously damaged and it had taken five years of dogged determination and friendship by Aramis and Porthos – yes, and himself - to get him this far.

Very occasionally, Athos had said something that hinted at the type of relationship between him and his father. It seemed the previous comte had been a hard taskmaster who demanded much of his son and heir and gave him little room to make and learn from his own errors. Tréville wondered if he might appeal to Athos to disclose more to him because of his position as the Captain's second. It was worth the effort.

"Anything I should know about?"

Tréville visibly jumped at the soft voice at his shoulder.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Aramis added.

The Captain wiped a hand over his face. He suddenly felt very tired – and old!

"I am fine. I was just thinking about what Athos told me."

"He's been awake?" Aramis' face lit up at the news.

"Yes. He took water but I didn't give him any broth. My apologies," and Tréville went on to describe the brief interlude when Athos had been awake and repeated the information the swordsman had given him. Disappointed as he was that he had missed Athos' first lucid moments, Aramis could not ignore the overwhelming relief and, despite Carveau's previous reassurances, he finally began to believe that his brother was recovering.

II

Gaston paced the room, moments of tense silence interspersed with violent outbursts of uncontrollable rage, shouted threats and an impressive range of expletives. The floor was littered with the contents of drawers and cupboards, interspersed with broken pieces of glass and pottery, thrown in a fit of petulant fury and irrespective of any value they might have held for his brother.

L'Hernault stood quietly in the farthest corner, watching the Duc's desperate search and dabbing at the open cut on his cheek with a handkerchief. When he had knocked at the door, Gaston had thrown it open, his anger already bordering on the unmanageable, and screamed at him.

"What are you doing here?" Gaston pulled him into the untidy room and slammed the door shut, but not before he had glanced wildly up and down the corridor. He rounded on his visitor, standing so close in his tirade that his spittle flecked L'Hernault's face.

"I told you that you were not to come here again; that I would send word to you. I have lied to my brother, the Cardinal and the Musketeer captain, telling them that you have returned to your estate. Why are you still here? I ordered you to head for Versailles." With that, he caught L'Hernault a severe blow with the back of his hand, laying open the cheek with the heavily jewelled ring he was wearing.

L'Hernault's eyes widened at the sudden pain and, annoyed, raised his own hand to his bleeding face. He took a deep breath, a desire to retaliate swiftly quashed.

"I am bound there shortly, but you were to give me details of the men's encampments. Also, I postponed my departure for as long as I dared because I was waiting for my three men to report to me but there has been no sign of them as yet."

"Oh, worried that they might not have sorted your little 'problem'?" Gaston goaded him. "What is this man who goes by another name? Is he not a mere mortal like you and me? Cannot three men contain him?"

L'Hernault flinched at the slight.

"I have more important things to concern me," Gaston yelled, crossing the room and kicking at the disorderly piles of clothing strewn across the floor.

"Can I assist you in your search for whatever it is?" L'Hernault offered from the corner where he had retreated.

"No you may not," Gaston snarled.

"Then, if you could spare a moment to tell me about the encampments, I shall be on my way."

"That's just it, you imbecile!" Gaston shrieked. When roused to this state, he was unpredictable and dangerous, which conflicted with the ridiculous sound he made that resembled the noise of a hysterical woman. "The map showing their whereabouts has been stolen from this very room. No-one was with me when I found a place of perfect concealment and yet it has gone!"

"But who …" L'Hernault did not get the chance to finish as he had to duck the bowl that was hurled in his direction. It smashed against the wall behind him, showering him in jagged pieces. He tentatively felt for new injuries.

"If I knew that, you idiot, I would be sending you after him right now!"

As quickly as his temper had erupted, so it drained away and Gaston slumped into a chair, staring at the floor before him.

"If it has fallen into the Cardinal's hands, I am finished. He has waited long for just such an opportunity."

"But," L'Hernault ventured quietly, "if he and Tréville were in possession of the map, they would have informed the King and you would have been summoned for questioning." He hesitated. "Possibly even arrested."

Gaston sighed heavily. "Perhaps whoever took it does not yet realise the significance of what they have."

"An odd trophy from a break-in," L'Hernault commented, "when the room contains many things of monetary value. Are you missing anything else?"

Gaston shook his head and paled as something else occurred to him. "There was no break-in. The lock was not forced. Someone had their own key or another means of access. Perhaps they are biding their time to betray me to my brother."

"Or a third party may make contact to blackmail you and can be dealt with then."

The Duc brightened. "We will be creative in the punishment that will be meted out to one who dares to blackmail me. Well done, L'Hernault. Your words encourage me that we may yet expedite our plans successfully."

L'Hernault let out the long breath he had been holding. He did not dare add what he was thinking - that the Duc was naïve and easily placated. With the map missing and in unknown hands, it was as if the very sword of Damocles hung above their heads and, if that map were to be passed to Richelieu, it was very likely that a similar weapon would be employed to cleave heads from shoulders.

_**A/N**_

_**So yesterday, when Tr**__**é**__**ville was interpreting what Athos was telling him, I wanted to write that he 'read between the lines'. Not possible. It's an expression from the 19**__**th**__** century and although it suggested spying (like Athos was doing) it was not appropriate. It stemmed from people writing a communication to someone and adding another message in invisible ink so that, when said message was revealed, the recipient literally 'read between the lines.' Fascinating!**_

_**Today I wanted to use the word 'blackmail' and wondered about its origins. It stems from the chieftains in the border regions between Scotland and England in the 16**__**th**__** and early 17**__**th**__** centuries (so I am using some historical licence that the idea/term had spread to France by 1630!) They ordered landowners to pay them to avoid being pillaged! The word means 'payment' or 'rent' and is thought to have come to the Old English from an Old Norse word 'm**__**ā**__**l' meaning 'speech, agreement.' **_

_**You learn something new every day! Love it! **_


	52. Chapter 52

_**Thank you to all the readers and to those who left comments for the last chapter. **_

_**Apologies for the break in updates but birthday celebrations interrupted proceedings and there are more adventures tomorrow so the next chapter will be Monday.**_

CHAPTER 52

I

Early evening and Tréville opened his door. He was about to step onto the balcony that ran past his office when d'Artagnan, lounging against the balustrade, snapped to attention and startled him.

"D'Artagnan," he began, swiftly recovering his composure, "can I help you?"

"Er, no. That is …" He at least had the decency to look embarrassed, not having been with the other three long enough to learn their ability to bluff their way out of a situation when confronted by the Captain. No doubt he would acquire that skill over time but for now, his painful honesty was like a breath of fresh air.

Not that the other three would tell him an outright lie. At least that's what Tréville told himself, for he – and they – knew they would be in serious trouble when he caught them out in the falsehood. He always liked to think of 'when' but was not such a fool as to think they never got the better of him. They could be economical with their version of the truth and were not averse to twisting it a little or eventually divulging it at a much later date. He suspected that they withheld details more often than he would like but trusted them not to jeopardise a mission with their silence; they were, after all, his best men.

"Then why are you here?" he pressed.

D'Artagnan sighed. "Aramis told me to wait here whilst you rested and to stop people from pestering you unless it was an emergency," he floundered. He had been averse to the idea of 'standing guard' outside the Captain's room to keep other Musketeers at bay and thought to provide some hasty examples to demonstrate that he could, indeed, determine what constituted an emergency. "Like a summons from the King, an attack against him or news that Gaston was causing more trouble."

"I thank you all for your concern," Tréville declared, passing the young man and heading for the stairs.

The clatter of feet on the wooden steps behind him told him that d'Artagnan followed closely in his wake.

"Did anyone try to see me?" he inquired.

"No, Captain."

"Good. There was, apparently, no need to go to such lengths then."

"Did you sleep at all, Sir?" d'Artagnan asked, changing the subject. That had, after all, been the reason behind his vigil on the balcony.

"For about an hour," Tréville reluctantly admitted. The very thought of sleeping during a working day when there was so much to be done was anathema to him but his erratic and insufficient sleeping patterns of late and the concern regarding Athos had taken their toll. Aramis had recognised the signs in the Captain – the narrowed eyes against the light, the furrowed brow and the subconscious rubbing of the temples – and had ordered him to take more rest to stave off the worst of the burgeoning headache. No doubt the usual herbal infusion Aramis insisted that he swallow had done much to facilitate sleep and disperse the pain.

"I shall have something to eat and then come to the infirmary," he announced.

Having discharged his duties, D'Artagnan looked relieved at being able to return to his mentor's side and eagerly peeled off from Tréville to go in another direction.

II

Less than an hour later, the Captain entered the infirmary and could not conceal his smile at the sight that met him.

Athos was awake again and propped up against a pile of pillows that had been claimed from the nearby cots. D'Artagnan and Porthos sat on chairs to Athos' left. The big Musketeer was in the middle of a story about one of their past adventures, elaborating upon its finer points to add the humour that had been missing from the group for far too long.

Aramis perched on the bed to Athos' right and was spoon-feeding broth to the injured Musketeer. It spoke volumes as to the limited progress Athos had made in a few hours. He remained too weak to sit unsupported and his hands lay limply on the blanket, unable to bear the weight of holding a spoon to his own lips.

"Captain!" d'Artagnan leaped to his feet and surrendered his seat to the officer as the other men also greeted him. Even Athos acknowledged him with a nod between spoonsful.

"You look much better than when I last saw you awake," Tréville stated, meaning every word.

"This is the second time he has woken since then," Aramis explained. "He took some water and a little of the broth but now," he announced as Athos obediently opened his mouth again for the approaching spoon, " he has finished this bowlful." He held out the empty receptacle for the others to see and make impressed noises. Athos raised an eyebrow, not appreciating being the subject of so much attention.

Ignoring his reaction, Aramis smiled warmly. "You have done well. You must have been hungry. It has to have been at least five or six days since you last ate properly. Go on, at least admit that you were hungry."

Now Athos rolled his eyes, a mannerism they all recognised and had sorely missed.

"I was hungry," he said grudgingly, feigning a mild annoyance. Tréville noted that his voice sounded stronger, clearer than when they had exchanged words only a few hours before. Fluid, food and more sleep had obviously been beneficial to him.

There followed a few more minutes of inconsequential chatter with Athos mostly listening and then Aramis quietly asked the question that had been uppermost in their thoughts.

His fingers brushed the back of Athos' hand in a sign of brotherly support. "What happened to you?"

Athos sat still and silent for so long that his friends wondered if he was actually going to respond. "I was attacked on the road. Three men," he said eventually.

"Why?" Porthos pressed. "Were they trying to rob you?"

Athos frowned. "I don't think so." He had not been carrying anything of value except for the list he had compiled, and they had certainly not found that, even if they had been searching for anything.

"Were they associated with the meeting you attended?" Aramis queried, desperately seeking a link as to why such a vicious attempt on Athos' life had been made.

"I had never seen them before," Athos answered.

It was an evasive answer; he knew it and so did the Captain, but it was no lie.

"Did someone recognise you as a Musketeer?" This was from d'Artagnan.

"I don't think so."

It was another honest response. L'Hernault avoided the Paris court and consequently knew nothing of Athos' new life as a soldier.

"Some of them I knew from their appearances at the palace, but I had had nothing to do with any of them. They would not have taken notice of me, of us. We are only Musketeers and expected to fade into the background after all. At best, I might have resembled a lowly soldier they had seen somewhere in passing."

It was the longest speech Athos had uttered since waking the first time and the effort depleted his hard-won strength so that he seemed to shrink into the pillows, his eyes heavy.

"It doesn't make sense," Aramis insisted. "Someone _must_ have recognised you."

"Or at least as someone who wasn't a noble," Porthos added. "You sure you didn't give yourself away somehow?"

"That's hard to believe," d'Artagnan said in defence of his mentor and unwilling to hear any criticism of him.

"Whoever it was knew you for a Musketeer, saw you as a spy – which, of course, you were – and wanted to stop you getting back to Paris and making your report to the King," Aramis continued.

"That must be it," Athos conceded; his weariness was audible now.

"But what of the three men? What 'appened to 'em? How did you get away?" Porthos wanted to know.

Athos slowly fixed his eyes on his friend and whispered, "I don't remember."


	53. Chapter 53

_**Greetings all. Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting upon the last chapter.**_

_**Birthday celebrations have now reached an end (couldn't really spin them out for more than five days!) and I can re-focus on the writing (all ongoing projects.)**_

_**I do have an apology to make for an error that I have only just noticed. I thought I had kept such a careful check on the days Athos was gone and a dateline for the month but, way back in chapter 3, I said the meeting was on the twentieth of the month and, in my subsequent timeline, I was working on the meeting being earlier – on the 12**__**th**__** of the month. Athos left Paris on the 2nd and was due back on the 16**__**th**__**; the search began on the 17**__**th**__** and they found him that night; he was returned to Paris on the 18**__**th**__**; the fever broke on the 19**__**th**__** and that makes this chapter the 20**__**th**__**. The departure for Versailles is the 29**__**th**__**. **__**Profuse apologies again. It was a very careless mistake on my part.**_

CHAPTER 53

There was no more talking to Athos that evening as he drifted off into a deep sleep and so Tréville had to be content to wait until the next morning. After he had broken his fast and issued instructions to his men at the morning muster, he collected the list from his office and headed back to the infirmary, anticipating that he might have another long wait for Athos to awaken but he was pleasantly surprised.

"Good morning," the Captain greeted both Aramis and Athos. "I apologise for disturbing your meal."

"No problem," Aramis said breezily. "We're all done here. Another bowl emptied." He sounded jubilant as he indicated the bowl he carried.

"If you feel able, Athos, I have your list here and want to ask you a few questions about it before I go to the palace," Tréville said.

"Try not to tire him," Aramis warned as he passed the Captain.

"_Do_ tire me," Athos urged. "I need a genuine reason to account for all this sleeping."

Tréville tried unsuccessfully to contain a smile. Athos was already bored with being confined to bed and the infirmary; a positive sign that he was feeling better but also a risk that he would try to do too much too soon.

It was an alarm that was already registering with Aramis. "Is the need to heal and regain your strength not enough of a reason?"

There was no answer and Aramis huffed in annoyance.

"I rest my case," he continued testily. "You apparently have little or no recollection of your time with the lay brothers or your treatment at their hands. Any one of your fever, infection, blood loss, being bled and given purgatives was sufficient to weaken you. Together they were lethal."

Athos recognised the burst of anger as a failed attempt to mask the worry and fear Aramis had felt in recent days and looked suitably chastised.

"Forgive me," he said softly.

Aramis sighed. "Always, but that forgiveness is more freely given when you stop fighting me." No doubt he was referring to rest and eating for Athos was never a good patient once he had started to recover.

"I thought forgiveness was unconditional," Athos countered, but there was no mistaking the amused gleam in his eyes.

Aramis gently slapped one of the blanketed legs and adopted a martyred air. "Usually, my friend, but do not push me!" With a conspiratorial wink in the Captain's direction, he strode out of the infirmary.

Tréville settled into the chair that Aramis had vacated. "It is good to hear the banter again," he noted. "He has been very worried about you. We all have."

"I know and I'm sorry to have caused such concern, but I need to be out of this bed and on my feet as soon as possible. We have what …nine days until we leave for Versailles?

Tréville looked surprised. "That's correct. With all that has happened to you, I did not expect you to be aware of time passing."

"My body might be hurting but my mind is clear, and I had many questions this morning," Athos told him. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Aramis drives a hard bargain. One question and one answer to one mouthful of food!"

Tréville chuckled. "Your head must have been brimming with questions then if you emptied the bowl."

Athos gave a slight shrug. "The last few spoonsful were an easy sacrifice to see Aramis look so pleased, especially when he thinks that I slept longer this morning than I did. I lay there, mulling things over in my head, trying to clarify them. All I need is to see the list and hope that it all falls into place."

Treville took out the paper and laid it on the blanket so that they could both see it.

"Take your time," the Captain said.

"Aren't you expected at the palace?"

"I am but I have sent a message saying that I would not be there until you and I had spoken, however long that took, so you are to rest when you need to because I would not wish to incur Aramis' wrath. Besides, you provide me with a wonderful excuse to make Richelieu wait for me for a change. He is having to curb his impatience and he is finding it very hard."

"As much as it pains me to do it, I shall put him out of his misery as soon as I can." Athos turned his attention to the list, studied it briefly and nodded.

"Handled carefully, the situation could be brought to a swift conclusion with little or no blood shed. They are united in having grievances, but they are not all agreed on the nature of those and certainly not in the methods of airing them. In short, there are factions within the faction," he began.

"That's interesting," Tréville muttered.

Athos pointed to a name on the list. "We know Vicomte Menier is the self-styled leader. He was the one who initiated and hosted the meeting. His preference is to meet with the King in the first instance but is prepared to act and can supply men, up to about forty. That's what this mark means. He is the highest ranking noble involved, with the exception of Gaston. L'Hernault was pressing for military action from the start."

"L'Hernault? The one who were telling me about yesterday?" Tréville interrupted.

"Yes, Gaston's man," Athos said. "I cannot say for certain, but I would assume the pressure he was applying to the nobles to provide men and arms stemmed from Gaston's orders. He needs far more men than he has brought to mount an attack."

"Agreed. Have the nobles all promised more men?"

Athos shook his head. "These marks mean a half-hearted assurance of twenty-five, twenty, twelve, or even less. Many would be hard-pressed to provide a militia even for the King, if he demanded it. There is a great difference in financial status amongst the nobility; it has long been the way and is at the root of some of the complaints of these men."

He suddenly focused his attention on a loose thread on the blanket, picking at it between a callused thumb and forefinger. It was no longer the hand of a privileged nobleman. "I was fortunate. Pinon is – was – a wealthy estate compared with those of many gathered at Menier's chateau."

Recovering himself, he made direct eye contact with Tréville. "Some would not commit to sending any at all. That's another group marked with these crosses," and he indicated several names on the list. "They are unwilling to raise arms against the King under any circumstances and were clearly dismayed at the direction of the meeting. I would hazard a guess that some of those will not even come to Versailles now to petition Louis; their hearts are not in a fight and they have too much to lose. I would hope that any punishment meted out against them would not be too severe."

"They have indicated opposition to the King by their very attendance," Tréville ventured.

"And they are not permitted to learn from this? To see the error of their ways and walk away before doing anything?" Athos persisted, not altogether sure as to why he was defending them. After all, they did represent much of what he had chosen to forsake five years before.

"We shall see," Tréville said quietly. "The final decision will be down to Louis - and Richelieu."

For the first time in a long while, an uneasy silence settled between them.

"Are the complaints all monetary?" Tréville eventually asked.

"No but L'Hernault did much to fuel their unrest. He _reminded _them to claim their fundamental right to rebel against what they perceived as unacceptable royal abuse and delivered a history lesson to prove his point, citing the Wars of Religion and the minority of Charles VIII."

"Nothing like an argument that's nearly two hundred years old," Tréville breathed, trying to remember anything he could of the blighted reign of the fifteenth century king.

"It was sufficient to stir up many of them," Athos added. "They are seeing changes to their seigneurial privileges over their tenants and judicial rights are being curtailed as they are passed to state control. The nobles feel under threat."

Tréville absorbed what he was hearing. "In your absence, we drew up a lengthy list of nobles who had petitioned Louis in the past year and then compared that with the list you provided. We had identified some of yours but were pleased to eliminate the rest of our lengthy list from current scrutiny."

"Somehow Louis had upset many people," Athos said softly.

"He has that …. ability." The two men smiled at the Captain's choice of word for both had frequently witnessed the mercurial nature of their King.

"You need to rest now," Tréville stated, for their lengthy and intense discussion had clearly tired the recovering Musketeer.

Surprisingly, Athos did not object, but he did have something to add before the Captain left him to sleep.

"There is one more thing."

Tréville settled into the chair again.

"My father's insistence that I be tutored in France's noble houses might have had some use after all, although my knowledge has undoubtedly developed some holes of late, but I did notice something."

"Go on," Tréville encouraged him.

"You and Richelieu would have to double check but from what I can see, they are all noblesse de lettres, or nobility of first or second generation."

"Are you sure?" Tréville leaned forward.

"As much as I can be," Athos confirmed. "There are none here that are classed as Noblesse d'épée, ancienne, de chevaleresque or even militaire."

The Captain studied the list again. "I think you're right. This is a rebellion of new money and new titles. I wonder why they are prepared to risk what they have so easily. You would expect the strongest objections to come from the old order, surely?"

"Not necessarily," Athos continued. "The traditional nobility has lasted for generations, for centuries." He took a deep breath as he was about to make an admission. "Mine can be traced back to the mid-twelfth century."

Tréville could not hide his amazement. He knew the de la Fère family name was an old one, but he had not realised just how old it was. The revelation only served to create many more questions in the Captain's head, all of which centred on Athos' reasons for walking away from such a background.

"With titles that old, there have been the battles with the prevailing monarchs regarding privileges, but those established families always knew where they came from and what the future held."

_But not for him. _The words remained in the silent realm inside his head.

"They saw and survived changes to their powers. The 'new' nobility, for want of a better description, have seen the restricted privileges and are loath to surrender anymore. I could be wrong, but I think they are seeking to establish their position in the hierarchy and some of them are prepared to risk all to protect what they do have."

"And Gaston is taking advantage of them," Tréville concluded.

"Using them and making many empty promises of further recognition in exchange for their support," Athos sighed. "L'Hernault said as much."

_**A/N**_

_**There were many categories of French nobility – many more than the few mentioned here – and they have changed or been added to from the middle ages to the early part of the 17**__**th**__** century. (Later that century, Louis XIV made huge demands on the nobility and the later Revolution had a further massive impact.)**_

_**In 'Retribution', I made Athos' family a long-established part of the French nobility, hence the reference in this chapter.**_

_**In brief, the ones which I have referred to are explained below: **_

_**Noblesse de lettres – non-nobles who paid a year's worth of revenue from their fiefs to gain 'nobility'. Henri IV did away with many of these but soon realised the necessity of the practice for his coffers. **_

_**Nobles of the first generation – nobility granted after 20 years' service to the crown or dying in service.**_

_**Nobles of the second generation – awarded on twenty years combined service of father and son**_

_**The traditional or old nobility included:**_

_**Noblesse d'**__**épée – nobility of the sword **_

_**Noblesse ancienne – 'ancient' nobility**_

_**Noblesse**__** de chevaleresque - knightly nobility dating back to before 1400**_

_**(I suppose, technically, my representation of Athos' family could fall into all three of the above.)**_

_**Noblesse militaire – holding military office after 2-3 generations.**_


	54. Chapter 54

**_Greetings. Thank you for comments and for all the readers yesterday. Amazing!_**

**_So, Treville has to do something with the information Athos has given him. Will the Cardinal be grateful? Apologies in advance if any errors have slipped through._**

CHAPTER 54

When Tréville arrived at the palace, he was advised that the King was indisposed and refusing to stir from his apartments.

"What ails the King?" he demanded as he was shown into Richelieu's office. The thought that the increased security had proved ineffective and someone had succeeded in adding an extra, undesirable ingredient to the monarch's food crossed his mind.

"A slight chill, nothing more," Richelieu said, devoid of all sympathy. "A few snuffles and he has taken to his bed, insisting that only his physician has access to him. He is afraid that a full cold will prevent him from going to Versailles." He waved towards a chair and Tréville accepted it as an invitation to sit. He could not help but wonder if the Cardinal were in possession of any of the finer social graces.

"I am glad to learn that it is not more serious," the Captain admitted with genuine relief.

Richelieu made a strange harrumphing sound, flicked out his robe behind him with well-practiced ease and sank into his own chair.

"I suspect he is using it as an excuse to avoid his brother. Perhaps it is for the best if he cannot bluff his way through the next few days. I would hate Gaston to be warned of what we know, which brings me to my next question. Do we, in fact, know any more from your Musketeer?"

"I have spent time with Athos this morning and he was very forthcoming with what I believe is extremely valuable information." Tréville repeated all that he had learned.

When he had finished, the Captain sat back in his chair and watched the Cardinal for his reaction.

Richelieu leaned his elbows on the surface of his desk and steepled his fingers. His eyes widened.

"Your man has done well," he said at last with grudging respect. His copy of the list lay on the desk before him. "At a quick glance, I would say that the conclusion he drew about these names being new nobility is correct."

"Do you think we should make changes to the way we proceed?" Tréville asked.

"In what way?" Richelieu said brusquely, his expression already indicating that whatever Tréville dared to suggest would be utterly preposterous.

"That we might apprehend some of them before we leave for Versailles in order to reduce their numbers and thereby their threat. I made a quick calculation based on Athos' marks and if all the nobles arrived with men and arms as indicated here, they would be supplying about two hundred. Add them to Gaston's small army and they would outnumber our combined force by nearly two to one. I do not like the odds," Tréville was insistent. "Remove some of the nobles now and their men would probably turn around and go home."

"And alert the others? Absolutely not. We have discussed this particular strategy at length and ruled it out."

Richelieu was dismissive but Tréville pressed on.

"I can confirm that a few of the people from that list have already arrived at court, bound for Versailles. Admittedly, their sudden disappearance might result in unwelcome questions, but we could wait for others and intercept them before they have a chance to contact their colleagues here at the palace."

Richelieu hesitated and the Captain fleetingly thought the Cardinal was going to agree with him but then the First Minister shook his head.

"No, we will continue as planned. We should have more men soon to swell our ranks."

Tréville raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"After our last meeting when you gave me your man's list, I sent out those letters I had prepared to a carefully selected few whom I can trust and whose lands lie within a two days' ride of Versailles from the north, east and south."

"Why not further?" the Captain wondered.

"I avoided the west as that is where Gaston's groups are encamped, and I do not want their reconnaissance – always assuming they have some – to notice any other movement in their direction. I have also avoided notifying those who are already here at the Louvre to minimise a leak of information.

"Time is short now. My messengers have to reach their destinations, await a reply and bring me back what I hope is good news. Those who will support us also need time to prepare and mobilise their men. They have to be in place when we arrive at Versailles."

He reached across the desk to a map that he had set aside earlier and positioned it where they could both see it. A bony finger tapped at a place and Tréville leaned closer to read the name.

"I have taken the liberty to instruct the nobles to assemble there with their men. Whichever routes they take must sweep wide of Versailles. They will be met and instructed by a small contingent of your Musketeers who will carry letters of authority bearing my seal."

Tréville frowned. "How many were you thinking? We've already agreed that an advanced party of my men would head for Versailles a few days before the King for a routine security check. I've decided to send more than usual anyway in the event of a possible skirmish with a group of Gaston's men should they decide to reconnoitre the hunting lodge as well. I do not want the King's escort pared too thinly."

"There is no risk of that. Remember that you will have sixty of my men too. I know you don't particularly trust them, Tréville, but you witnessed my orders to their Captain. They _will _accept your command in this enterprise; on that you have my word."

Tréville did not look convinced but dared not voice his disquiet for Richelieu started gathering documents together, a signal that their conference was at an end. The Musketeer Captain stood up.

"Oh, I nearly forgot." Richelieu's words stopped Tréville from departing. "Your men will need to be in position sooner rather than later; I anticipate those nobles nearer Versailles will arrive promptly. I have given thought as to whom you should send to meet our reinforcements."

He pushed a piece of paper across the desk towards the Captain who could see, even before he picked it up, the three names written there, and his heart sank. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"You would have me send them away now? After what they have been through in recent days?" he objected.

Richelieu's expression hardened. "Have they not sworn an oath to their King? I never can understand the sentimentality you have for those beneath you, Tréville, or that you so willingly foster it in them. We have discussed this before, and I will not revisit it. They are soldiers first and foremost. I have tolerated their concern over their … friend." Somehow, he managed to make the word sound distasteful. "But they found Athos and, according to your reports, he is no longer at death's door, so they are more than capable of resuming their duties, especially at this perilous time."

The Cardinal sighed heavily and tried to sound a little more conciliatory. "Besides, these three know everything there is to know about this plot against Louis. They have been involved with us almost from the beginning - at your insistence. You wanted me to trust them? Well, against my better judgement, this demonstrates that I do. I cannot think of any more suitable for the responsibility."

It made perfect sense. Tréville could not deny it and yet, as he rode back to the garrison, he was rehearsing in his mind what he was going to say to the three when he commanded them to leave their injured brother and ride out on another mission.


	55. Chapter 55

_**Ooops, Treville is really not very popular right now!**_

_**Thank you for reading and commenting.**_

CHAPTER 55

Whatever reaction Tréville expected to meet when he delivered the news to the three, it was not what he got. He had prepared himself for outright refusal, remonstrance, definite insubordination, pleading and even bargaining, but there was nothing apart from a deep sigh from Aramis as he stood, feet apart and the greater weight on his right leg, hands on hips and head bowed. Porthos emitted an animalistic growl and fixed his Captain with an uncomfortable, unwavering glare. D'Artagnan, clearly horrified and out of his depth, looked from one to the other of them as if for guidance.

They had listened in silence as Tréville outlined where they were going, what they were expected to do and why, and concluded just as Richelieu had done with him, by reminding them that they were the only ones privy to the same information known by the King, the Cardinal and him.

Aramis pursed his lips, nodded, turned on his heels and walked out before being dismissed, all without making eye contact with Tréville. The only indication that he was not as calm as he appeared was when he opened the door with such force that he threw it back on its hinges with a crash and left without a backward or apologetic glance to the officer.

Porthos raised his hand to point at Tréville, changed his mind, opened his mouth to speak and changed his mind again. He shook his head at the Captain in an expression of utter disgust and disbelief and followed his friend from the room.

Only d'Artagnan remained and Tréville could see his inner struggle. Should he voice his opposition and risk losing all chance of gaining his commission or should he stand with his brothers in their unspoken concerns over Athos? The Captain was intrigued as to what d'Artagnan would choose to do but was unsurprised when the Gascon shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Sorry …" he muttered. "I …I'd better," and he gestured limply in the direction of the open door.

Tréville decided to help him. "Dismissed!"

D'Artagnan did not need telling twice and hurried out after the others.

The Captain exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his thinning hair as he evaluated what had just happened and speculated on whether he could have done anything differently. No matter how he looked at it, there was nothing else he could have done or said.

He gave them half an hour and headed down into the yard, knowing exactly where he would find them.

The infirmary was silent, the air filled with tension. No doubt they had been discussing this latest development. Porthos was in his usual seat, d'Artagnan perched with one hip on a nearby table and Aramis was pacing. Athos was asleep, his breathing soft and even, his features relaxed but still very pale.

The three turned their heads to look at him as he closed the door behind him. It gave Tréville the moment he needed to take a deep breath for he had seen their grim expressions. He was probably the last person they wanted there at that point, but he moved across the room towards them.

"Have you told him?" he asked quietly, not wishing to disturb the patient.

Aramis threw up his hands in frustration. "No, we don't appear to have had the chance," and he angrily moved to bar Tréville's way, standing so close as to be intimidating. It took all of the Captain's willpower not to take a step back to re-establish a distance between them.

"It seems your little chat earlier succeeded in exhausting him," Aramis hissed, fighting to keep his voice low. "I came back shortly after you left to find him already asleep. He hasn't woken since so no water, no food and no relieving himself for hours," and he ticked off the list on his fingertips.

"We've seen sight nor sound of the physician all day," he continued bitterly, "but then I hear the King has a cold and his needs, naturally, take precedence." There was no attempt to hide his sarcasm. "Now you expect us to leave Athos alone. Who is going to attend him? I can't trust the physician to make an appearance, and don't say you'll do it because you can't. You're wanted at the palace every day now and the closer you get to the royal party's departure for Versailles, the more you'll have to do."

"He will not be left alone, I promise you. There will be someone with him every hour of the day and night." Tréville was already running through a list of possibilities in his head even as he spoke. Serge and Claude featured highly and there were others who could be prevailed upon to help.

"That's not the point," Aramis went on. "It won't be the same!" He stopped abruptly and dropped onto the end of the nearest cot, the fight leaving him in an instant to be replaced by a burgeoning helplessness.

"I understand." Tréville softened his voice. He knew that his order would not sit very well with any of them; he was not happy with it himself. "He has a long way to go yet but he is recovering; you have seen him through the worst and it is unlikely now that he will have a relapse."

"You don't know that for certain," Aramis objected.

"No, I don't but if it did happen, it could just as easily be with you here," the Captain argued. "I repeat – I am sorry that I have had to issue this order and if there were any other way, I would send someone else, but you three _are_ the best men to meet and brief the commanders of the reinforcements."

There was a long pause and then Porthos spoke.

"We're not really angry with you." He shrugged. "Well, we are but we're guessin' this wasn't down to you an' that it was the Cardinal behind this. 'E just won't leave us alone, will 'e?

"What's wrong?" The voice from the bed was husky with sleep.

Aramis was immediately at Athos side, reaching for a cup of water as he did so. "I'm sorry if we woke you," and he raised Athos' head to help him take a few sips.

"What's going on?" Athos tried again when he indicated that he had had enough.

The _Inseparables _exchanged worried glances before Aramis broke the news.

"We have to leave you and go in advance to somewhere near Versailles," and he reluctantly explained their new orders.


	56. Chapter 56

_**Thank you for reading and responding to the last chapter. Here, the brothers spend a last evening together before they are separated once more.**_

_**Apologies if any mistakes have crept through!**_

CHAPTER 56

"I will be fine so you must not worry about me. You have to concentrate on the task you have been assigned," Athos reassured Aramis softly when they were alone together mid-evening.

"It's not that easy," Aramis objected. His brow furrowed with the concern he was feeling. "Who'll take out your stitches?"

"With all that's going on, you're worried about my stitches?" Athos was incredulous. "There is a physician and I am trusting that he knows what to do!"

Aramis was too distracted to see that he was being gently teased. "Physician!" he spat out. "What good is he? Where has he been today?" He suddenly caught the amused gleam in Athos' eyes. "You mock me, so I know you are feeling a little better, but you are not up on your feet yet."

"I will be," Athos said firmly. "I sense improvement every time I wake up so I shall be up and about soon. To that end, I would ask something of you."

"Go ahead," Aramis answered warily. There was something in the way that Athos was building up to his request that was troubling.

"Will you bring my uniform from my room, please? It's probably better if you do it this evening; you will have more pressing things tomorrow. I'll also need a shirt and other items."

Aramis eyed his friend sceptically. "I know you of old. If I get them, you will push yourself too much and be out of this bed sooner than is advisable."

Athos looked hurt. "You do me wrong. I would prefer you, or even Porthos or d'Artagnan, to bring my clothes to me; you know where they are. To have someone else enter my room and rummage through my belongings is … too much."

Aramis was visibly chastened at his oversight because Athos was a very private man. "Sorry, my friend. I did not stop to think."

Just then, the door burst open to admit Porthos and d'Artagnan, laughing raucously at something that had amused them and each carrying a loaded tray.

"I will get them for you as soon as we have eaten," Aramis hastily agreed as he leaped to his feet to offer his assistance to the new arrivals.

"Serge has done 'imself proud," Porthos happily declared.

"It's a feast!" d'Artagnan added, just in case Athos and Aramis did not appreciate what they had brought.

"I told 'im this was the first time we'd 'ad a chance of eatin' together in about three weeks," Porthos announced, picking up a steaming bowl. "'An 'e was thinkin' you might want a change from beef broth." The big Musketeer approached the bed and showed Athos the bowl's contents. "Told me to tell you 'e'd taken some of the chicken stew 'e'd cooked for the rest of us and said 'e gave it a little extra attention. Cut the meat an' vegetables up smaller an' made sure the seasonin' was just right."

He went to hand the bowl and spoon to Aramis.

"I would like to do this for myself tonight," Athos suddenly interjected. To eat unaided would be further evidence of his recovery and go some way in reducing the consternation of the others. He ignored the looks the three exchanged. "Perhaps, when you next see Serge, you might give him my thanks."

"You haven't tasted it yet!" d'Artagnan quipped, his wit earning him a chuckle from Porthos.

"And _say_," Athos persisted, "that I appreciate the time and trouble he has taken to tempt my appetite. I will endeavour to do the dish justice, but I need a little help in sitting up more."

Aramis and d'Artagnan immediately moved forward, one on either side of him, as they slipped their arms through his and, on the marksman's count of three, hoisted Athos higher against the pillows.

"Too much!" he gasped as a burning agony erupted in his side from the excessive movement. His eyes shut tight against the pain and sweat beaded his brow. The position of the wound and its line of stitches made sitting up problematic and this first attempt made him suffer. Aramis had offered a pain-killing drink every time he awoke but he had resisted for the dull ache as he lay still or was propped at an angle against several pillows was tolerable.

With repeated apologies, Aramis and d'Artagnan hurriedly slid him down again almost to his starting point and rearranged the pile of pillows that supported him.

Wringing out a cloth from a bowl of cold water set on a nearby table, Aramis bathed Athos face. " As I was saying, pushing yourself!" he scolded, leaning in so that only Athos could hear his words.

"I will feed myself," Athos insisted through gritted teeth.

The way in which he was sitting was not conducive to eating easily though. With a cloth spread across his chest and holding the bowl almost to his chin, he tried not to make a mess, cursing softly as he was unsuccessful.

Porthos tried to contain his amusement as Athos struggled but guffawed as another spoonful of stew dripped onto the cloth. Aramis glared at him as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

"I know it's wrong of me," Porthos said, fighting to control himself, "an' I'm sorry but this isn't a sight we get to see every day."

"And nor will you in future," Athos informed him with a slight shake of the head, but he was prepared to endure the embarrassment just to hear Porthos laugh again.

The effort proved too much and he finally gave up, passing the half-full bowl back to Aramis.

"I've finished. Would you like some help?" d'Artagnan offered tentatively.

"No, thank you," Athos answered. "It's the first solid food I've had in eight days and I'd prefer to give it the chance to be digested."

Aramis nodded his acceptance of the explanation and reached for the soiled cloth. "Let's make you more comfortable and then I'll let you have a little watered wine as a treat."

Athos rolled his eyes but remained silent for the promise of 'a little watered wine' was better than none.

When Porthos and d'Artagnan left to return the trays and dishes to Serge and Athos was contentedly sipping at his drink, Aramis stood up.

"I'll go and get your clothes. Do you need anything else?"

"The two books beside my bed, please." He seemed to be thinking hard about something. "Also, I would like to speak briefly with the Captain if he can spare me the time."

With a nod, Aramis was gone but was back and laying out Athos' clothes on the next bed when Tréville appeared.

"I'll leave you for a while. I have things to do before tomorrow," Aramis said lightly as he was halfway out the door.

"Has he forgiven me yet?" Tréville asked as he sat at the bedside.

The corners of Athos' mouth twitched. "I think he has. After all, he is not one to harbour grievances."

The Captain picked up the books Aramis had brought from the table beside the bed and studied the covers. "Chrétien de Troyes."

"A Medieval poet," Athos explained.

"And Caesar's Gallic Wars." Tréville flicked through the pages. "In Latin. Hardly light reading."

Athos shrugged. "I need something to occupy myself when the others have gone."

Tréville lay the books down again and leaned back on his chair. "Aramis says you want to speak with me?"

Athos nodded, his expression serious. "I have something to ask. I need your help."

_**A/N**_

_**The two books Athos is reading are a trip down memory lane for me from degree and school exam days! (lol)**_

_**Chrétien de Troyes, a 12th century French poet, focused on the Arthurian legend. He wrote, amongst other things, his 'Arthurian Romances' and is believed to have 'created' Lancelot. He was responding to Eleanor of Aquitaine's desire to promote the chivalric code through 'love, life and literature.' ( I thought it appropriate when Santiago Cabrera played Lancelot in the BBC's series 'Merlin.') **_

_**Aged 15-16, I spent too many lessons translating and studying part of Caesar's Gallic Wars! **_

_**It seems fitting that Athos would be reading them (for military history and strategy.) He was educated and knew the language of ancient Rome. Dumas mentions him correcting Aramis' 'church' Latin.**_


	57. Chapter 57

_**Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**_

_**So, what is the help that Athos needs?**_

CHAPTER 57

The four spent as much of the last few hours together as they could, although Aramis insisted that Porthos and d'Artagnan returned to their own beds, his reasoning being that if two of the three of them were well-rested, it would be sufficient. They argued, naturally, but succumbed to his insistence, especially when Athos added his weary voice to the mix.

"I no longer require constant vigilance. It will not be long before I am asleep and will be a boring subject. After all, it is not as if you will be watching for my every breath," he teased.

"That isn't funny!" Porthos admonished him.

"No, I agree," Athos agreed, "but it is the truth. Go to your rooms and have some quiet rest time without worrying yourselves about me. You, too, Aramis."

But the marksman shook his head stubbornly. "I am staying here in case you have need of me," and he gestured towards the next bed.

Athos knew better than to continue the fight. "I shall do my best not to disturb you."

Goodnights were said with a promise to reconvene in the morning to break their fast together, Porthos and d'Artagnan departed, Aramis helped Athos to settle for the night and then stretched out on the neighbouring bed. Soon, all that could be heard in the infirmary was the gentle, rhymical breathing of restful sleep.

Morning came all too quickly. The four shared a meal and then, as the others went off to make final preparations for their journey, Athos was properly alone in the infirmary for the first time since he had been brought back to the garrison. For an intensely private man and one who was happy with his own company, he was surprised to find the sudden silence oppressive. It was not long before he was missing d'Artagnan's chatter, Porthos' banter and Aramis' quiet reassurances. They had not even left Paris and he was feeling …. What? He had happily ridden south on his own and been apart from them for over two weeks but now … now he was the one being left behind, the one without immediate purpose.

"Ridiculous!" he chastised himself aloud, but his voice sounded strange in the empty room. "You will be moaning that you feel lonely in a minute!"

Was that it? He had eventually been forced to accept that, after many years of constructing and maintaining a metaphorical wall around himself to keep others at bay, he had failed miserably with Aramis and Porthos. Undaunted by his unapproachable demeanour, they had relentlessly chipped away at his aloofness, planting the seed of friendship and nurturing it through its early days of frailty. If asked, he could never identify the specific points in their relationship when they had progressed from mere colleagues through tentative friendship to indisputable brotherhood.

Working as a unit and learning to trust and rely upon each other in the field had done much to escalate that bond between them and they had gained the appellation of Tréville's _Inseparables. _He would probably never admit it aloud, but he enjoyed this sense of belonging, of being part of something. Still believing himself unworthy, he never ceased to wonder at the unconditional acceptance the other two constantly showed him and now he was seeing the same towards him from d'Artagnan.

It was, after all, only eight days before they would be together again at Versailles and Athos had much to do before then. He had to recover, regain his strength and test his sword skills for Tréville would be depending upon him in the troubles facing them in the days ahead. Reading would not be sufficient in challenging his mind so perhaps Tréville could be prevailed upon to bring him up to date with events. After all, as the man's second in command, he ought to have a firm understanding of what was going on before they left for the hunting lodge.

Throwing back the bedding and taking deep breaths, he slowly pushed himself away from the pillows to sit upright, the wound immediately making itself felt. Gritting his teeth, he inched his legs round until, after what seemed an age, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. Leaning to his right and eyes closed, he breathed hard through the pain. The thought briefly crossed his mind that he was being reckless, but he just as swiftly dismissed the notion. He only hoped that he could achieve his objective before the others returned and that Tréville would return from the palace before much longer.

Aramis had set out several doses of pain killer within his reach in small bottles on the table beside the bed. The added instruction was that it might be more palatable diluted with a cup of water, but Athos picked up the nearest bottle, removed the stopper and downed it in one, shuddering at the bitter taste. His reasoning – rightly or wrongly for he didn't really know - was that it might work faster in its concentrated form.

He leaned forward stiffly and groaned as he attempted to pull his clothes towards him from the adjacent bed.

When the door opened a few minutes later, the Captain entered to discover him sitting perfectly still on the side of the bed, head bowed and breathing heavily. He was wearing nothing but his long linen shirt.

"You've started without me," Tréville said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I thought I could don some of my clothes before you arrived," Athos explained as he raised his head to look up at the officer.

"Well then you have succeeded," the Captain encouraged. His face was a mask as he strove to ignore the sheen of sweat that coated Athos' pale skin.

"I can't bend to reach my feet," Athos announced, frustration evident in his tone.

"That is why I am here," Tréville stated the obvious. He picked up the clean braies, shook them out in a business-like fashion and squatted before the injured Musketeer. "Feet," he ordered.

Athos obliged in silence.

"Now, let's get you standing," and Tréville braced himself, feet apart and held out his arms. Athos grabbed him at the elbows, and he did likewise in a firm grip. "On the count of three, you push against my arms and I will pull you up but don't do it too quickly."

The advice did not help. Once vertical, light-headedness hit Athos and he swayed dangerously. Tréville did not dare release him until he was more steady and said nothing as the young man's gaze fixed upon a point beyond his right shoulder.

He pulled the braies up to just above Athos' knees. "You fasten them at the waist, and I will tie them below your knees."

There was a sad sigh as Athos pulled them up, carefully settled the waistband over the bandage and tied them securely.

"This is …. embarrassing," he admitted softly. "I should not have asked you."

"Hmmm!" Tréville straightened up to look him in the eye. "Why should you be embarrassed? We're both men."

"Dressing a soldier is not an appropriate task for an officer," Athos declared, his cheeks burning.

Tréville picked up the leather breeches before he spoke again. "A man, regardless of rank or position, is no man if he cannot spare the time to help another in need and if that assistance falls within his power. I see one of my men in need of my aid, particularly as he has been injured following my orders. How can I deny him that service, no matter how trivial it might seem to others?" He crouched again and gestured for Athos to raise a foot to put in the left leg of his breeches. Tréville was intent upon guiding the second foot into the other leg when he added quietly, "And how much more willingly that help is given to one considered as a friend."

Athos was keeping his balance by resting a hand on the Captain's shoulder and maintained a silence.

"You fasten the buttons and I'll find your boots. Bare feet in them will not matter on this occasion; it is not as if you would be walking far or riding."

Minutes later, Athos was booted and wearing his doublet, albeit unbuttoned. There was no need for anything else tight across the wound site.

"Almost done," Tréville announced and moved across the room to pick up something he had left on a shelf near the door. Athos had not been paying attention when the Captain arrived but now, when he saw the item, his heart leaped.

It was the precious pauldron.

"Not often I get the chance to buckle this on someone a second time," Tréville said lightly, his smile warm. "We can't have you in uniform without this."

Athos' eyes were fixed unwaveringly on him as he buckled the pauldron onto the right shoulder.

"Thank you," Athos said, but the voice was low and cracked with suppressed emotion. "For everything," he added.

Tréville smiled again and nodded his acknowledgment. They both knew the thanks were for much more than helping Athos get into his uniform. It was for seeing something of value in a young man broken by his inner demons; not despairing of him when he drank to forget his past; for seeing his worth and promise; for mentoring him to that end and promoting him when he was deemed ready; for offering the hand of friendship … and for helping him dress.

"So, how are we going to do this? Do you want to sit at your usual table?" Tréville asked.

"No," Athos insisted. "They must see me standing, better still if they witness me walking."

Tréville puffed out his cheeks. "That might be too much. You're standing now for the first time in days and, I hate to say it, you're not very convincing in that."

Athos was ashen and wiped at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand.

"Perhaps we ought to practice a few steps to the door," the Captain suggested. "Lean on me," and together, they shuffled across the floor of the infirmary towards the door. Athos held himself stiffly, his eyes fixed ahead of him, the sharp intakes of breath the only indication of the pain he still experienced as he concentrated upon setting one foot in front of the other.

"They're leading out their horses from the stable," Tréville said, catching sight of Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan through the window set to one side of the door. Athos shook off the supporting arm. "You aren't very steady," the Captain warned. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"I must alleviate their worry, and the only way to do that is for them to see me on my feet and walking," Athos persisted. Even as he spoke, he leaned heavily against the wall and regulated his breathing.

Tréville opened the door wide and stood back as Athos inhaled deeply, straightened his back as much as he dared and stepped out into the sunshine.

The Captain shook his head in awe of the young man who, with dogged determination and willpower, moved slowly forward to greet his friends. Their delight at seeing him was noisy but he held up a warning hand to stave off their exuberance. One over-enthusiastic touch would be enough to knock him off his feet.

Claude moved to stand beside Tréville as they watched the farewells of the brothers. "Never thought I'd see 'im up this soon," he observed.

"He shouldn't be up now," the Captain declared, his lips hardly moving. "Don't go too far."

Claude regarded him quizzically. "Oh," he breathed as he realised what Tréville meant. "Be ready for anythin' unexpected, you mean?" When the Captain nodded, they moved forward to stand on either side of the injured Musketeer.

Porthos was first in his saddle and grinning broadly as he edged his mount forward to Athos, reached down to take his hand and shook it gently. "See you in eight days." He moved off so that d'Artagnan could take his turn.

"Look after yourself," the young Gascon urged.

"I will," Athos assured him and turned to watch Aramis approach.

The marksman looked unconvinced as he leaned down and cupped Athos clammy cheek in his hand. His dark eyes were grave as he studied his brother. "Remember what I warned against," he advised.

"Not too much too soon," Athos answered.

"Exactly," Aramis continued. He gave a slight smile. "It's good to see you up and about. We will see you soon in Versailles."

With that, the three rode out through the gate and were gone, watched by the three men in the yard.

"Captain!" Claude said urgently.

Tréville turned just in time to see Athos stagger, an arm thrown out towards the officer to steady himself. The Captain caught the flailing arm just as Athos' legs gave way and they went down together, the descent marginally slowed by Claude on the other side. Athos sat on the ground with a bone-jarring thud and gasped at the explosion of pain that tore through his side. His head lolled as he battled to remain conscious.

"We need to get you back to bed," Tréville declared over the bowed, dark head to Claude, but Athos was a dead weight so two more Musketeers standing nearby were summoned to help.

"I think," Athos reluctantly admitted as he was manhandled to his feet, "it was too much too soon."


	58. Chapter 58

_**Greetings, all. Thank you for your continued support; I always appreciate it.**_

_**So, did Athos' plan work?**_

CHAPTER 58

D'Artagnan was chattering animatedly to Porthos as they left first the garrison and then Paris behind them. The subject matter began with their mission outside Versailles to meet the nobles mustering with their men to support the King. He wondered at the content of the letter written by Richelieu which afforded the three Musketeers the authority to give further instruction and information to those loyal aristocrats.

"I expect it simply says whoever it is 'as got to listen to us whilst we 'give 'em further instruction and information'," Porthos grinned, using the Gascon's own words. "Mind you don't lose it out the top of that saddlebag," he warned, "or they might not give us the time of day."

He chuckled as d'Artagnan's eyes widened in horror. The young man twisted easily in the saddle, a hand reaching for the bag behind him to ensure that the flap remained securely fastened.

"I can't believe the Captain gave it to me. I expected him to hand it to you for safekeeping. You don't mind, do you? I mean, you are senior to me, a proper Musketeer," d'Artagnan continued as it occurred to him that Porthos might have taken offence at Tréville's action.

If all four were together, any documentation initially went to Athos, but he was, of course, indisposed and Aramis was with him when Tréville returned from collecting the Cardinal's written authority earlier that morning.

Porthos shrugged. "The Captain can give whatever 'e wants to whoever 'e wants. It doesn't bother me. We all get to carry papers or letters at some time; you'd best get used to it."

"I wonder how many nobles Richelieu contacted!" d'Artagnan went on. Do we have any idea? We could find ourselves inundated. Supposing we can't cope with them all."

"Given 'ow many the Cardinal was suspectin' of treachery not so long ago, I'm thinkin' they must be a very trusted few," Porthos answered.

D'Artagnan frowned. "But supposing none come at all? I mean, we could be camped there for the next few days and the first people we see are the advanced group of Musketeers checking security. It would be so embarrassing for the King."

"An' a lot of trouble for us," Porthos added. "If all the rebel lot turn up and start pushing for a fight, we could find ourselves seriously outnumbered."

"But we'll have a lot of the Red Guard with us to swell our numbers."

"Not so sure I want to rely on them too much," Porthos added grimly, "but at least we know that when they're backed into a corner, they can come out fightin' an make it a good one."

"They'd be following orders," D'Artagnan said.

"Yeah, Tréville's orders, an' there's no knowin' how quickly they're goin' to respond to 'em." Porthos raised a hand as d'Artagnan began to object. "I know all about what the Cardinal said, an' the orders 'e gave to 'is men an' I heard the orders the Captain's given to us. There's no love lost between the two regiments but I'm ready to work with the Red Guard. It just remains to be seen whether they're ready to work with us."

"That's a pessimistic way of looking at things," d'Artagnan commented.

"Maybe I'm just being realistic," Porthos countered quickly.

D'Artagnan decided it was time to change the subject and significantly brightened. "But we'll have Athos back with us. He's making remarkable progress."

"Granted," Porthos agreed, "but he's not goin' to be fully fightin' fit in just seven days. 'E can 'ardly be thrown into the thick of a battle," he said before adding, "if there is one."

"Hopefully there won't be one," d'Artagnan commented, "but if there is, I'm sure the Captain will find something for him to do; behind the scenes, you might say."

Porthos chuckled. "I can see Athos liking' that idea."

Such was his optimistic mood that D'Artagnan completely missed the big Musketeer's sarcasm. "Of course he will. The most important point is that he will be back with us and involved. It was such a relief to see him up and about and dressed in his uniform this morning before we left, almost like his old self, and he can only get better and stronger as each day passes."

Aramis had maintained silence since leaving the garrison, lost in his own thoughts, but the conversation of his brothers had gradually penetrated his reflections. Now he reined in and watched the other two incredulously. They had ridden on a little way before realising that he was no longer beside them. Stopping their own mounts, they turned to him, their expressions puzzled.

"What's wrong?" Porthos demanded. "Has the horse gone lame?"

"The horse is fine," Aramis said with suppressed fury as he spurred on the animal and re-joined them.

"Then what is it?" d'Artagnan asked worriedly.

"You!" Aramis spat out at him so that he visibly recoiled.

"Come on, Aramis," Porthos intervened. "I know you didn't want to leave Athos but there's no need to take it out on d'Artagnan."

"You're just as bad!" Aramis rounded on him.

"What?" Porthos was perplexed at the outburst. "What have I done?"

Aramis shook his head in disbelief. "I've been listening to the pair of you. I know you haven't known Athos long," he said to d'Artagnan, "so he might have been able to fool you but you," and his anger was redirected at Porthos, "should know better."

"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan was confused.

Aramis sighed heavily. "I agree that Athos has made remarkable progress, as you put it. It's just five days since we found him in that dreadful state. He needed proper care, which he has had since, but he's not recovered. That little demonstration this morning was for our benefit. Could you not see that?"

"I …." d'Artagnan began and gazed helplessly at Porthos for support.

"Did you not see the sweat on his face or the way he was holding himself as he stood there? Did you not see the Captain and Claude standing close? They were expecting him to collapse and so was I. He wanted to reassure us, and his ploy might have worked with you two, but not with me. He's probably set back his recovery, the idiot! So much for my telling him not to do too much before he was ready. He could not have got it more wrong if he thought to allay my fears."

He urged his horse to walk on as he vented his wrath in a stream of Spanish. Porthos and d'Artagnan might not have understood the language but they had no doubts as to the meaning behind them.

"And you can forget about the idea of him joining us in Versailles," he shouted back to them without turning his head.


	59. Chapter 59

**_Aramis was not a happy person in the last chapter, was he? _**

**_Thanks for reading and commenting. Apologies in advance for any errors I might have let slip through._**

CHAPTER 59

Tréville stood to greet the physician who was shown into the office by a cadet.

"Thank you," Carveau said as the Captain indicated towards the chair set for him before the desk and handed him a brandy. He had found a solitary, small glass at the back of the cupboard where he stored his alcohol and a few pewter cups, one of which he was now using for himself.

"I thought that as His Majesty was much improved and it's early evening, a drink would not be inappropriate," Tréville said, settling back in his own seat and scrutinising the man in front of him.

He had summoned the physician hours earlier when he and Claude – with some help – had succeeded in returning Athos to the infirmary, only to have the injured young man categorically refuse to undress and get back into the bed. A compromise was reached with Athos agreeing to lie on top of the blanket. If truth be told, it was more comfortable for the wound after his exertions than trying to sit in a chair. Tréville only settled with him because it had taken much time and effort to get him dressed and standing in the first place.

"A toast," Carveau announced, raising his glass, "to His Majesty's recovery."

"His Majesty!" Tréville reciprocated.

"It was a little strange," Carveau admitted. "The King had taken only a mild chill, nothing too serious, but he withdrew from everyone, even the Queen, and insisted upon my constant attendance. He obviously puts great store in his hunting trip to Versailles."

"He does indeed," Tréville admitted, beginning to think that Richelieu had been correct in his supposition that Louis preferred to avoid his brother in the days leading up to the hunting trip and what would be the undeniable dénouement of the situation with the unhappy nobles. What better than to feign an ailment that was worse in report than in reality? It also gave the monarch an admirable excuse to keep apart from a court he no longer trusted. "He looks forward to this departure from Paris and I am sure he would go there more frequently if he but had the time."

"So it is important that he is in the very best of health to fully appreciate this hunting trip," Carveau observed.

"Exactly," Tréville began, "and I take it from what you have said that there will be no doubt in His Majesty making a full recovery in the next week?"

"Oh absolutely. I anticipate that he will be seen again in public within the next few days. I did suggest he might make an appearance tomorrow, but he seemed somewhat reluctant." Carveau smiled. "I am quite content to pander to his little foibles if he wants to be away from everyone for a little longer."

The physician did not seem to perceive anything worrying or strange in Louis' behaviour and certainly showed no indication of being aware of any cause for significant concern related to the trip itself. The only person likely to have said anything to him would be the King in an unguarded moment, but it appeared that even Louis was belatedly learning the advantages of maintaining his own counsel.

"And Athos? How do you find him?" Tréville asked, hoping that the morning's endeavour had not proved too detrimental.

"Interesting young man," Carveau answered with a knowing smile.

"Not the word that immediately comes to mind," Tréville muttered more to himself than to the physician.

"I have seen a different side to him today: irascible, frustrated," he paused, searching his mind for any more appropriate adjectives.

"To those of us who know him, they are all signs that he is recovering."

"In his head, I agree, but his body tells him otherwise. That wound, angled as it is from waist to hip, restricts his movement. The infection is beaten; some signs of it persist but they are only minor. After what you told me of him being on his feet today, I especially looked for any strain upon the stitches, but all is as it should be. He has to accept, though, that this wound will take time to heal. I cannot stress enough that he must not rush that, nor is there anything I can do to accelerate the process."

"No more attempts to go for walks then?" Tréville asked.

"There is nothing wrong with gentle exercise – when he is ready. So I have instructed him not to move from that bed for at least the next four days."

Tréville exhaled sharply. "Four days! You are asking the impossible. He will not stay put for that long."

Carveau suddenly flashed a broad, warm grin. "You and I both know that. He might heed my advice and rest tomorrow, but I suspect he will be up the next day."

"I'll order him back to bed; tie him to it if need be," Tréville assured him.

Rising to his feet and setting his empty glass on the desk, Carveau laughed aloud. "A fascinating notion, Captain, and I'd love to witness your attempt, but it will not be necessary. I like to think that, in a very short space of time, I have got some measure of your man. If I told him he could leave his bed the day after tomorrow, he would be out of it in a few hours. Why do you think I told him to stay there for four days?"

"Because you knew he would have no intention of complying," Tréville answered, his amusement evident.

"Exactly. I am so glad you and I understand each other, Captain. I will visit again in three days, by which time I anticipate that he will be more mobile."

The Captain escorted him to the door and held it open but, as Carveau went to pass through it, he had another question.

"We leave for Versailles in seven days. Give me a serious answer. Will he be ready to accompany us?

Carveau grew serious. "I have no doubt that he wants to be there, but I would strongly advise against it. Sitting upright might be easier by then but to sit a horse would aggravate the wound and be very painful. Even being jolted around in a cart would be an unpleasant experience."

"Thank you," Tréville breathed. "You have solved one problem for me, only to create another." It had been heavy on his mind that he would have to order Athos to remain at the garrison and the injury was only one reason to keep him from Versailles.

"At best, you could give him the painkiller or a sleeping draught to help him on the journey, but I do not see why it is so important for him to be there. I understand that he is your lieutenant and far be it from me to instruct you in your job, but you have more than enough men to escort the King's hunt and you will not exactly be gone for long. What could he do? He would serve very little purpose in guarding the King or accompanying him on the hunt!"

He laughed and shook the Captain's extended hand in a farewell getsure. "It is better for him to stay here. It's not as if you're going to be fighting a pitched battle, is it?"


	60. Chapter 60

_**Thank you, all, for reading and reviewing. On a roll (don't know how long it will last!) so making the most of it. Aramis' outburst was, perhaps, a little unfair - but he was understandably worried.**_

_**So, has he had time to calm down?**_

CHAPTER 60

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan found the area designated by Richelieu as the place for the mustering of loyal nobles and they quickly set about finding the most desirable site for setting up their camp, finally selecting a spot at the foot of a gently sloping hillside. They needed time to see those approaching to gauge intent and hopefully identify the colours to establish whether they were friend or foe. They were about a league south-east from the hunting lodge and knew that Gaston's force was camped in different locations a similar distance north-west of Versailles. The unknown factor was the military experience of the potential foe and whether they would bother sending scouts out this far south and at this time. They would know when the hunting party was due, but they would also be looking out for the arrival of their own reinforcements promised by the disgruntled nobles.

The three friends had to be prepared to face any eventuality. The base of the hill opened out into a vast expanse of flat ground with easy access to a stream beyond; definitely suitable for a massed encampment, but its current emptiness rendered the Musketeers vulnerable so they opted to pitch their tent close to the edge of a small copse. If necessary, they could retreat within the trees for cover.

Porthos and d'Artagnan were occupied erecting the two-man tent; it was sufficient for their needs as the third would be on watch. Aramis had disappeared into the trees to find wood to build their campfire.

"Is he still mad at us?" d'Artagnan asked eventually, for he had been left deeply disturbed by Aramis' uncharacteristic outburst.

"Probably a little," Porthos conceded, "but more with 'imself." He knelt to push the bedrolls through the open flap of the tent.

"How so?" d'Artagnan was puzzled. Sitting, he started to pass Porthos more of their limited belongings.

"You've been around us long enough now to know that Aramis is a bit …. complex."

D'Artagnan gave a little groan. "And here was I thinking Athos was bad enough."

Porthos responded with a deep, throaty chuckle as he shifted his position to sit on the grass. "Oh, I reckon I'll be dead and buried long before I get the chance to figure _him _out." He grew serious. "No, you have to learn 'ow to read Aramis, when to leave 'im alone with 'is thoughts - like now - an' when to stick by 'im, whether he wants it or not."

"That sounds complicated," d'Artagnan frowned.

"Not when you get to know 'im an' understand why he acts as he does. You see, 'e was soldiering before me an' Athos; he's experienced more than we 'ave, some bad things." His voice dropped and he gazed ahead as if at some far distant memory. "'E was headin' to be a priest, you know, but 'e loves too many other things like life itself, women an' fightin'. Not the killlin', not that, but 'e knows it's part of the job an' so he makes sure he's good at it. He can't stop lovin' 'is God too and that sets 'im at odds with 'imself at times. He also loves us, me an' Athos; we're brothers together an' now you're one of us too."

D'Artagnan flushed delightedly at the expression of acceptance. It was something for which he yearned but had never expected this acknowledgement so soon in his relationship with the _Inseparables _– if at all.

"So when one of us gets hurt, he sort of takes it personally; thinks 'e's failed in protectin' us."

"But what happened to Athos wasn't Aramis' fault! There was nothing he could have done to prevent it. He _saved_ Athos' life once we'd found him."

"You an' I both know that, an I believe 'e does too, deep down, but it doesn't make it any easier for 'im," and he paused to take in the surrounding countryside, "especially when we got sent 'ere. He was torn between 'is duty to the Captain an' his personal duty in lookin' after Athos."

"I keep thinking about what Aramis said, about how Athos looked when we said our farewells," d'Artagnan admitted. He glanced at Porthos. "How could you and I have missed that he was struggling and should not have left the infirmary?"

Porthos broke eye contact and shuffled uncomfortably. "Well …," he began and stopped, unsure how to proceed.

D'Artagnan stared at him and his mouth dropped open as realisation hit him. "Oh no! How could I have been so stupid? I was the only one not to see it."

"You saw what you wanted to see … an' what Athos wanted you to see. 'E needed us all to think 'e was better than 'e really was. You weren't to know. Ol' Athos an' Aramis often lock horns because he's always playin' down when he's hurt; says it's a scratch when it's anythin' but!"

"But why was Aramis so angry with you?"

"He 'ad a go at me because 'e knew I could take it an' because 'e had to let it out somehow. I should have known it was comin' as 'e'd been quiet for so long."

A noise from the trees drew their attention. Aramis stood there, his arms full of small branches for the fire. They were not to know how long he had been there nor how much of their conversation he had overheard.

Crossing to where they sat, he dropped the wood in a pile, took a deep breath and studied the hill's crest, his hands on his hips. They waited quietly until he sighed heavily and looked down at them.

"I owe you both an apology," he announced.

Porthos attempted to ease his brother's tension with a grin. "Been listenin' to us?"

Aramis shrugged sheepishly. "Not deliberately, but I had already been thinking about the error of my ways. I fully understand why Athos decided to be such a fool. I cannot condone what he did and pray that he has not done himself additional harm, but I must trust Tréville and Carveau to tend him. Again, I am sorry. My outburst was uncalled for." He crouched before them, a hand placed over his heart submissively.

"You're forgiven," Porthos declared without hesitation and clapped him hard on the shoulder, deliberately overbalancing him so that he collapsed in a heap.

There was a shocked silence as the three looked at each other and then there was a simultaneous burst of laughter from them all.

All was right between them once more.


	61. Chapter 61

_**Greetings, all. Thank you for reading and reviewing. My apologies if I've let any errors slip through.**_

CHAPTER 61

Athos was angry.

He stared hard at the closed door for several minutes after Carveau had left him, knowing that the man was going directly to the Captain before heading back to his royal patient at the Louvre and that the recommendation would be to confine him to the infirmary for a longer period. The only outward signs that the Musketeer was anything but calm were the twitching in his facial muscles, the handful of bedding screwed up in a clenched fist and the deep breaths as he fought to control his warring emotions.

At least four more days in bed! The very idea was preposterous. There were only five full days remaining before most of the regiment departed for Versailles and he was determined to be amongst them, so it was impossible for him to be lying in the infirmary for four of them.

Why was he so incensed? Was it merely because of Carveau's unrealistic instruction or because the physician was correct regarding how he was really feeling? He knew that it was early days in his recovery and just how ill he had been in the wake of his injury and the inappropriate treatment at the hands of the inexperienced lay brothers, but now he was sleeping naturally, and eating and drinking more of what was set before him to build his stamina. The best test of his strength was to be on his feet, moving around – albeit gently at first – and attempting to wield a sword. His right side was dominant but the wound to the left would affect his balance, impede his movement and slow his reactions. He seldom considered himself the best swordsman in the regiment or beyond, but the accolade had originated from those who had seen him in action. Very well then! If he were the best, then the Captain deserved to have him present at Versailles.

But then another thought, unbidden, rose to the surface despite his best efforts to suppress it.

There was unfinished business with L'Hernault. The man would be at Versailles and their paths would unavoidably cross once more. L'Hernault had already proven that time had not diminished the animosity he felt towards Athos when he sent the three murderers in pursuit of the individual he only knew as the Comte de la Fère; it had not mattered for years that the original argument was between their fathers. L'Hernault was determined to don the mantle of revenge abandoned on his father's death.

When he had lain in the darkness, eyes closed as he feigned sleep, Athos had begun to remember the events surrounding the meeting near Troyes and what had later transpired. There was no doubt that L'Hernault had recognised him; his startled expression as he looked at Athos across the crowded room spoke volumes, but that surprise had quickly given way to a dark fury. As soon as the meeting was concluded, L'Hernault attempted to thread his way through those gathered to reach Athos but he was too late; the Musketeer had already slipped away.

There was no time lost in sending men in pursuit and such was their confidence in their task and the assumption that they had the superiority of numbers over a lone nobleman, they were careless. Athos was aware of their presence before night fell that day. He tested his suspicion two or three times the next morning, altering his direction for no apparent reason, but instead of riding nonchalantly past, they likewise changed their route and kept up their dogged pursuit. For more than two days, he attempted to throw them off and each time he thought he had been successful, they appeared again in the distance. They rode hard, pushing him and his exhausted horse to the limit so that they began gaining ground. He was forced to weigh up his options. If he continued as he was, his faithful mount would drop dead beneath him, and the terrain was such that it afforded him no adequate place of concealment.

He had no choice but to turn and fight on his own terms. So he stood waiting for them, quite literally. His horse grazed freely behind him as, with a pistol in each hand and his sword and main gauche lying at his feet, he watched them ride up until he gauged that they were within range. When they realised that he was so well-armed, it was too late for them to run. They shouted in alarm, but his first shot found its mark and one of his would-be attackers immediately jerked backwards over the rump of his horse and hit the ground with a dull thud. The second was saved as his startled horse shied so that Athos' precious final shot only grazed his shoulder.

As they dismounted to face him, Athos threw the brace of pistols aside and snatched up his other weapons. The men bore down upon him, one of them emitting an enraged roar, but he was ready for them, shutting out the extraneous noise and totally focusing upon the dangerous encounter.

They were better than he anticipated - for that he had to give them credit - but they were no match for him in the end, despite their attempts to out-manoeuvre him. He cleanly ran one through with the rapier and temporarily threw off the other with an elbow to the throat. He staggered away gagging and Athos inhaled a rasping breath even as instinct warned him of a new danger. He wheeled around. Too late. The man he had shot had come to his senses and, despite his mortal wound, had lurched to his feet to exact a final revenge.

Pain erupted in Athos' unguarded left side as a blade sliced through his flesh and he reeled backwards, desperate to increase distance between the two of them to give himself time to prepare for another attack but, the deed done, his assailant sank to his knees, blood bubbling on his lips and pitched forward, never to move again.

His body afire with agony and his peripheral vision already darkening, he knew there was still one man to dispatch so, chest heaving, he turned back, almost unbalancing himself with the speed in his injured state.

The third man was almost upon him and it was instinct once more that saved him. With a guttural scream of defiance, he stabbed the man in the stomach.

He did not recall collapsing, nor did he have any idea as to how long he lay unconscious in the dirt, but he stirred at a nudging to his shoulder and the huff of warm breath upon his face.

Forcing his eyes to open and then focus, he found himself staring up into the face of his horse. To him, the stallion looked somewhat confused. Trying to roll on his good side to push himself first to his knees and from there to his feet, Athos gave a laugh that bordered on the hysterical and which then metamorphosed into a sob as the pain threatened to overwhelm him once more.

After that moment, events became confused, disjointed. He had no recollection of arriving at the monastic building nor of the lay brothers themselves. There were unpleasant, brief memories of extreme pain, feeling as though he was burning up, weakly fighting against some foul liquid being forced between his lips and vomiting again and again, long past the time when he had anything left in his stomach. After that, there was nothing but merciful darkness until he awoke in the infirmary. Of his brothers finding him, caring for him and the journey back to Paris in the bed of a cart, there was nothing and Aramis had only seen fit to furnish him with a skeletal outline.

The creaking door to the infirmary opened, interrupting Athos reflections. It was Serge, bearing a loaded supper tray.

"Mutton stew," the old cook announced as he set down the tray and picked up two bowls. "An' if you've no objection, I thought as how I'd sit 'ere an' eat me own. Keep you company, like."


	62. Chapter 62

**Greetings all,**

**Another chapter here (amazing myself with the update at present - don't know how long it will last!) Thank you to all readers and those who leave comments. As usual, apologies for any errors I've let slip through.**

CHAPTER 62

I

"You could have sent your kitchen boy with the food," Athos said, fists either side of him on the bed as he pushed himself up further against the pillow and attempted to mask a wince. He accepted the bowl held out to him and breathed in the aroma of the seasoned stew.

Serge settled himself on the chair next to the bed and took a mouthful of his own food, nodding his approval.

"Reckon I deserved to 'ave some time off. Most of the men've been fed. Artus can deal with any stragglers an' take care of the last of the clearin' up. Thought I'd keep you company for a bit," he repeated slowly and carefully, as if Athos had not heard him originally. "Tuck in," he urged, waving a spoon in the young man's direction.

Athos spooned up some of the food and held it in mid-air. "Spying for Tréville, you mean," he said, watching for the cook's reaction.

There was no attempt to deny it.

"If that's what you want to call it, then yes," Serge was undeterred by the accusation.

"So you'll tell him what we talk about?" Athos was immediately guarded.

Serge's eyes narrowed and studied the Musketeer. "Well now, that depends, doesn't it?" He waited for a response and, when there was none forthcoming, went on. "I'm thinkin' you're smart enough not to tell me anythin' you don't want 'im to hear. Mind you, I 'ave been known to keep a confidence when needed. Puts me in a bit of a spot, mind, an' I'm tellin' you now, I do think about what I'm told an' if I think it's in everyone's best interests, I _will _repeat it in the right ear, if you know what I mean."

Athos nodded as he put the spoonful of food in his mouth and chewed. "I think I know where I stand." He had a second mouthful, giving him time to choose his words carefully. "Perhaps you could repeat my assertion that as much as I appreciate the diversity of company- and I mean no offence here - "

"None taken," Serge interrupted.

"I do not need to be watched all the time."

Serge huffed in amusement. "After that stunt you pulled earlier today? I told the Captain what I thought about his involvement in it."

"You did?" Athos' eyes widened in surprise.

"Naturally, an' now I could tell you what I think of you for puttin' 'im up to it."

"I'm sure you will," Athos muttered.

"But I'm not goin' to. I reckon what 'appened taught you a bit of a lesson an' you've 'ad time to think on it."

Athos said nothing as the cook fixed him with a glare.

"That givin' information works both ways so now I'll tell you somethin'. Claude an' me'll be spendin' time with you when the Captain can't, so it'd be nice if you were 'appy to see us an' before you start, the Captain made Aramis a promise. Claude an' me are just 'elpin' 'im keep it."

"I can imagine. Aramis was reluctant to leave whilst I was still in here."

Serge's face and voice softened. "'E's been worried about you, lad. All three of 'em 'ave an' the Captain." Hs voice dropped even further. "An' me."

Athos regarded him thoughtfully and then sighed. "Thank you. I am ungrateful and for that I apologise. I suspect that I did not put Aramis' mind at rest earlier despite my good intentions."

"I'm pretty sure you didn't. You didn't see yourself in a mirror afore you let 'ere. Even from where I was standin' across the yard, you looked like death." The old man chuckled. "You weren't foolin' no-one, boy," he said, before adding shrewdly, "not even yourself."

Athos did not reply and the two carried on eating in companionable silence.

It was Serge who spoke first when he had gathered their empty bowls and poured them both a watered ale.

"What's got you all so fired up that you have to be at Versailles, eh? I know the Captain's expectin' some sort of trouble or I wouldn't be goin' along to feed so many men. I'm thinkin' you know a whole heap more about it than I do an' I'm not expectin' you to tell me, but I'm hopin' you ain't looking for some sort of revenge on account of what 'appened to you."

II

Knowing when he was beaten – or outnumbered – Athos remained in bed all the next day, except for availing himself of the chamber pot. Claude had been with him when he eventually fell asleep and was still there dozing on the next cot when he awoke, departing only when Serge brought the patient a late platter of bread, meat and cheese to break his fast. The cook then sat with him whilst he ate it, chattering on about the mundane routine proposed for the day. Claude returned to relieve the cook within the hour. This level of supervision had to inconvenience the two men but neither of them seemed bothered by the unusual responsibility so if Athos were aggrieved by the close attention he was receiving, he knew better than to express that aloud, especially when Tréville arrived mid-morning with an armful of papers and deposited them beside Athos on the bed. He carefully withdrew a bottle of ink and quill pen from his pocket.

"A list of Musketeers for you: the three already there, the ones going in the advance group to check security and the rest on the escort detail. The Cardinal has also provided the names of the Red Guard selected to accompany us. I've drawn up a rough rota of guard duty when we're there and who will accompany the King when he hunts. The days when those are proposed are also there in the pile.

"I'm trying to keep Musketeers and Red Guard apart as much as possible. There's also a map that includes a ground plan of the hunting lodge with all entrances and exits. I've transferred other information, marking where Gaston's men are supposed to be waiting and where Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan are to meet any loyalists who respond. It also shows the designated campsites of our two regiments. There's a fresh list of the nobles you saw at the meeting with any current information we have on them like recent grievances to Louis and if they have already arrived at the court here in Paris." He was pleased to see that Athos was already leafing through the pages, his interest piqued.

"I have been through it countless times myself and then with the Cardinal. I need you to check it all again for me to see if I have omitted anything. A third pair of eyes coming to it fresh will not hurt so I would value your input. I have not given you the plans I've made in the event of any trouble actually starting. I thought I'd let you come up with some different strategies in response."

He did not give Athos a chance to ask questions but turned briskly and headed for the door, calling out as he left. "I will be back this afternoon for your report."

As the door closed behind him, Athos exchanged glances with Claude who was sitting busily cleaning his weapons at the table in the middle of the room. The older soldier grinned.

"You'd best get to it, lad. There's more than enough there to keep you occupied!"


	63. Chapter 63

_**Thank you to everyone following the story and for the lovely comments.**_

_**Athos is determined to go to Versailles - no matter what it takes!**_

CHAPTER 63

I

Between them, Tréville and Richelieu had thought of everything and there were no glaring omissions. Although Athos recognised the exercise for what it was – something to keep him occupied during his confinement - it served its purpose as well as challenging his mind and giving him much of the information he was so far lacking. It was clear that the Captain and Cardinal had been very busy whilst he was absent in the south, but he had a quiet sense of achievement when he thought of a couple of suggestions that he could make.

Tréville was as good as his word, returning late afternoon when he had been to the palace and concluded much of the remaining business for the day. It seemed his work was never done and rarely did he retire without some task outstanding for the following day, but such was the lot of a commanding officer and he had learned to live with it.

"How's he been?" he asked Claude, his gaze fixed on Athos sitting on the bed amidst the strewn papers.

"Good as gold," Claude answered with a grin. "Been playin' nicely with the pile o' papers you left 'im. I think he forgot I was even 'ere."

Athos rolled his eyes. "Don't mind me. I'll just sit here and listen to the two of you talking about me."

The two older men laughed.

"I'll leave you two to it," said Claude, heading to the door.

"That's it. Go and find someone else to annoy!" Athos called after him. He was rewarded by a gesture that would have offended the more genteel society.

"You are looking much better today," Tréville noted, taking the empty seat beside the bed.

"I feel it," Athos admitted. "I thank you for bringing me something to do. At least I know more now about what is awaiting us at Versailles."

Tréville could not miss the inclusive 'us' but did not comment upon it.

"So," he said," what have you found?"

They spent the next two hours discussing what Athos had read and Tréville, once he had listened quietly to the suggestions, nodded sagely, accepted them and vowed to implement them. He also took time to update the younger man on discussions at the palace, the prevailing atmosphere there and Gaston's activities; in short, everything else that had not been written down. They had just turned their talk to more trivial matters when Serge entered followed by Artus, both carrying trays.

"Good, caught you both in one place," declared the old man. "You can eat together. I'll be back later."

"More food!" Athos groaned when he and Tréville were alone again.

"Are you complaining?" the Captain asked lightly as he inspected the contents of the dishes.

"Not really."

Tréville raised an eyebrow.

"But he is on a personal quest to fatten me up. I awoke this morning to find bread and two eggs beside me. I later broke my fast with bread, meat and cheese. He sent Artus with a little more after you saw me this morning and then a pottage arrived at noon. Artus was back with a bowl of broth just before you came in, now this feast and, I suspect, there will be a little more before I settle for the night. I fear that I will explode but if I don't eat everything, he stands over me and scowls."

Tréville gave a low laugh. "Are you telling me you're afraid of Serge?"

"He has this way with him," and he dropped his voice as if the old cook were lurking nearby and might overhear. "He is more frightening than Aramis when the mood takes him."

The Captain leaned in conspiratorially, "And now you know what I have known for years!"

II

Replete and content after an evening of pleasant and diverting conversation with the Captain, Athos slept soundly. The jug of watered wine also helped, and it had not gone unnoticed by him that the Captain ensured that he drank more than half. He was so relaxed that he did not even mind when Claude appeared to take up his position on the neighbouring cot.

The next day was a totally different story!

It began when he refused to let Claude help him get out of bed to use the chamber pot. Gritting his teeth to the pain, he clung to the chair back until the room stopped moving whilst Claude hovered nearby, just in case he ended up on the floor again. Once he was steady, he was left in private. Business concluded, Claude did not immediately return, giving Athos time to formulate a plan. He was _not _going to spend another day consigned to bed.

Relying on the furniture, he slowly made his way round the room to a cupboard, hoping that it still contained what he sought. It did!

When Claude tapped on the door and re-entered, he found Athos standing in the middle of the room, away from any supporting furniture but aided by the t-shaped crutch he had remembered seeing injured Musketeers using in the past. Rudely carved from one piece of wood, the bar was padded and bound with rags to ease the pressure on the armpit. He leaned on it now, its top tucked under his right arm, and with a victorious expression on his face.

Claude was not so delighted. "What do you think you're doin'?"

"I am up, I am getting dressed and I am going outside to sit in the sun," Athos announced.

III

Tréville was on his balcony watching a few of the men sparring when he saw the infirmary door open and heard the argument before either participant emerged. Sighing heavily, he knew exactly what was going on without having to witness it. Carveau had been accurate in his assessment of Athos.

"Carry on!" he ordered the men, some of whom had stopped when they heard the raised voices.

The Captain descended the stairs and quickly crossed the yard to intercept Athos' escape.

"Going somewhere?" he demanded, thumbs hooked into his belt.

"I am going to sit over there at our table," Athos declared, his tone challenging the Captain to try and stop him.

"And what of the physician's order to stay in bed for four days?" Tréville asked.

"He is unreasonable!"

"Is he?" Tréville interrupted.

"I have to be moving," Athos hissed through clenched teeth. " It's Saturday already and we leave for Versailles Thursday morning."

Tréville seemed to consider the statement and then stood aside. "Proceed," he said as Athos shuffled past. He raised a hand to Claude who was about to object. "No, let him go. Get some weapons from the armoury for him to clean whilst he's sitting there."

"They've all been cleaned already," Claude began.

"Then he can clean them again," Tréville snapped.

The battle of wills had commenced.


	64. Chapter 64

_**Goodness me, I can't keep up with myself!**_

_**Thanks for reading and commenting. Here the tension mounts- I think! I hope!**_

_**Apologies for any errors that have slipped through.**_

CHAPTER 64

I

Each knew what the other was trying to do.

Tréville wanted to force Athos to accept the truth, that he was not going to be fit enough to travel to Versailles. If he succeeded in doing that, he might be able to postpone the moment when he had to challenge the young Musketeer about past events with L'Hernault.

Athos was determined to prove to the Captain – and himself – that he was capable of joining the regiment at the hunting lodge.

So he sat at the table and cleaned weapons, without complaining that they did not require such attention. Instead, he was thankful for he did not have to apply as much effort. Tréville was no fool; he would have known this when he set the task. He also generously ordered a cadet to collect the weapons and bring a second batch so that Athos was not forced to attempt the stairs to the armoury.

Serge continued to supply him with food and drink and glared at the Captain when Tréville passed by on his way out to the palace to check on the guards and to meet with the Cardinal, even if the King did not put in an appearance. There was a cruel irony that the King, afflicted with a mild chill, was hard to coax from his sickbed whereas Athos, struggling with a wound that so nearly left him for dead, would not allow himself the necessary rest to recuperate.

"You can ease up now 'e's gone," Serge announced in a loud whisper.

Athos gave a wry smile. "I have not exactly been applying the 'elbow grease' as it is," he quipped.

Serge looked him over. "You look tired. You ought to go an' rest now."

Athos shook his head, "I do not shirk my duty; I will still be here cleaning when the Captain returns."

And he was.

He had just started the fourth batch when Tréville rode in through the archway. Dismounting, he strode to the table.

"Captain," Athos acknowledged him lightly.

Tréville huffed in exasperation. "Enough for today," and signalling to the cadet, he instructed him to remove the weapons and clear away the cleaning rags. His brow furrowed as he studied Athos, noting the dark lines beneath green eyes and the grey complexion. He opened his mouth to speak and Athos immediately tensed, as if anticipating a rebuke. Tréville took a deep breath. "Please do not make me order you back to the infirmary."

Athos gazed up at him and then nodded, his exhaustion plain to see as he pushed himself to his feet.

Tréville handed him the crutch. "Rest. I will visit you later to update you on today's meeting."

The first time the Captain visited, he found Athos sprawled on top of the bed in a deep sleep and still clad in his shirt and breeches.

"'E was dead to the world before I even got 'is boots off for 'im," Claude explained. "Stubborn blighter, isn't 'e?"

"He's his own worst enemy in more ways than one," Tréville said cryptically. He laid an appreciative hand on Claude's shoulder. "Stay with him. I'll be back to relieve you later."

When he returned the second time and carrying a box under his arm, Claude was entertaining himself whittling a piece of wood whilst Athos quietly read.

"I'll be with Serge when you're ready to leave," Claude told the Captain and then deliberately raised his voice. "Me and Serge'll be plottin' on how to keep this one under control. Maybe we'll slip somethin' in 'is pottage tomorrow."

Athos did not even look up from his page when he countered drily, "Try something like that and it will not matter that the King has banned duelling."

"There is not much to report as it happens," Tréville admitted, making himself comfortable when Claude had gone. "His Majesty has announced that he might re-join everyone tomorrow whilst the Queen looks harassed in trying to keep everyone happy in his absence, and that includes Gaston, who is at his sycophantic best. He is also on the verge of making a nuisance himself, asking a lot of questions about details for the hunt."

"He probably wants time to pass on anything of value to the men waiting outside Versailles," Athos speculated.

"Undoubtedly," Tréville agreed. "In our turn, we are also learning little that is new. Three nobles have sent word to Richelieu so far and they will be arriving any day now with almost a hundred men between them."

"That's encouraging. If it continues, we should easily have the greater numbers," Athos said.

"I hope so. I am uneasy in using Louis as a kind of bait at Versailles, but Richelieu is convinced we will stand a better opportunity of intercepting and convicting all those involved if they are lured to the lodge, rather than apprehending a few of them beforehand."

"Has no-one been arrested at all?"

"Just the one, Pierre Folger," Tréville replied.

Athos was confused, never having heard the name before.

"My apologies. There are obviously things that I have still omitted to tell you. He was Allaire's contact, keeping him informed about Gaston's men and providing the map showing where they were camped. He was handed over to Richelieu's inquisitor to see what other information he knows but he has withstood questioning for days."

"He's probably beyond giving rational answers now," Athos said grimly.

There was a pause, the air heavy between them as they both contemplated the inquisitor's methods.

Changing the subject, Tréville produced the box. "Are you interested in a game of chess?"

II

The next morning, the garrison yard was almost empty. Apart from those assigned to the palace on duty, the men were at leisure. They slept late, were nursing hangovers or had found different forms of relaxation beyond the garrison walls. Some may even have been at church so when Tréville appeared on the balcony in his shirt sleeves, he was not expecting to see anyone.

He heard Athos before he saw him as the gentle thud of the crutch accompanied by a shuffling step drifted up from below the balcony. He started down the stairs as Athos came into view, making a careful circuit of the yard's perimeter. He nodded briefly to the Captain as he went past, sweat dripping from the ends of curling hair and his damp shirt sticking to his lean frame.

Claude was sitting on the table usually favoured by the _Inseparables._ He looked up as the Captain joined him.

"What's he doing?" Tréville asked, thinking that he already knew the answer.

"Getting' some exercise and provin' 'e can move," Claude replied. "Sorry, I couldn't stop 'im, short of knockin''im out."

"You're not to blame, Claude. When he's like this, there is little anyone can do, not even his brothers," Tréville said softly. "How many circuits has he done?"

"More'n I expected. This is his sixth an' it's costin' him."

"Just get him back to bed before he collapses. I am about to go to the palace but will look in on him when I return."

The Captain could not avoid the issue any longer. The only way to stop Athos from pushing himself so relentlessly was to tell him that he was not going to Versailles.

III

The visit to the palace gave Tréville an unexpected opportunity to raise the subject later.

He found Athos resting on his bed in the infirmary. A curt nod to Claude dismissed him and Tréville sat by the bed, his expression serious.

"What's happened?" Athos asked, aware of the Captain's sombre mood.

"Richelieu had some news for me. He said, and I quote, 'Folger died as a result of intense questioning.'"

""I'm surprised he lasted this long," Athos observed.

"But he did eventually reveal the name of the person who gave him his initial orders."

Tréville paused and watched Athos for his reaction.

"It was L'Hernault."

Athos' steady gaze never wavered at the mention of the name.

There was another pause, longer this time.

The Captain squared his shoulders. "I have made a decision. Heaven knows it was not an easy one to make but it's for the best. For _your _best. You will remain here when the regiment moves to Versailles."

"No!" Athos gasped. "Please! There are three more days; I can make progress during that time. You need my help. There will be things that I can do in the background, many things that would relieve your burden. I _will _fight but only if necessary; I could be at a position firing pistols. I could …." His voice trailed off as the Captain silenced him with a hand on his arm.

"You and I both know that this injury would be your death sentence in a fight and whilst I might appreciate your listening ear, there is a much more pressing issue that bothers me and makes me want to leave you here out of the way of any potential trouble."

"L'Hernault," Athos whispered.

"L'Hernault," Tréville agreed and he leaned forward, his voice low but his expression making it clear that he was not going to brook any nonsense. "You and I need to talk about this and I am not leaving here until I get some answers."

_**A/N: I have allowed myself a little license with 'elbow grease'. It does date from the early 17th century and although its first citation was 1639 (nine years after this story is set), I am assuming that it was probably in common parlance before that.**_


	65. Chapter 65

_**Thank you to all readers and for leaving comments.**_

_**So, round two of the battle of wills.**_

CHAPTER 65

"You have to talk to me because I need to understand what all this is about. I know you hate talking about your past and I'm sorry for pushing you like this," Tréville pressed.

Athos sat perfectly still, his face an expressionless mask as he weighed up just how much he was willing to divulge.

"And if I tell you what you want to know, will you let me go to Versailles?" he said warily.

Tréville gave an exasperated huff. "So now you are prepared to blackmail your commanding officer?"

"Not blackmail," Athos objected. "I would prefer to call it a compromise or a gentleman's agreement."

"Call it what you will," Tréville retorted, "but I am not promising anything until I know the details and I mean all of them. You are not going if I can't trust you not to go after L'Hernaut the moment you see him!"

"What!" Athos looked stunned.

"You heard me. I am not giving you any opportunity to exact revenge after what he did to you." Tréville sat back in the chair, partly relieved that he had said awhat had been troubling him for some time.

Athos was incredulous. "I don't want to kill him!"

"What?" The comment had been so unexpected that now it was Tréville's turn to look perplexed.

"Is that what you think of me?" Athos challenged.

"No, but …."

"I am not seeking revenge. There is enough of his family's blood linked with mine that I do not want his as well. I want to talk to him!"

Tréville stared at him open-mouthed.

"I was as surprised to see him as he was to see me at the meeting. He probably thought that I was dead when I disappeared. That might have angered him, thinking he was denied the retribution he sought so, when he discovered that I was very much alive, he must have seized the opportunity to get rid of me once and for all. How it must have galled him to relinquish that task to others!" Athos said quietly.

"And when he sees you very much alive still at Versailles, do you honestly think he is going to give you the chance to have this discussion you want?" the Captain asked.

Athos shrugged annoyingly. "I have to hope so. I did think that his hostility might have abated a little over time."

"You were definitely wrong about that," Tréville observed, reaching for a jug and sniffing at its contents. He poured two cups of watered wine and handed one to the younger man. "So," he began, more softly this time, "what occasioned this intense hostility?"

Athos held the cup in two hands, a finger running around the rim as he stared at the dark liquid within. He had always been so guarded about his past and the disastrous events of his marriage to Ann and her murder of his brother that caused him to turn his back on his privileged upbringing. After weeks of wretched wandering, wallowing in despair and struggling with great gaps in his memory due to an excess of alcohol, he eventually had arrived in Paris. He was dirty, dishevelled and spoiling for fights, wanting to incite others to run him through with a rapier and thereby putting an end to his miserable existence.

Somehow, though, skill and an instinct for self-preservation always ignited that natural talent when he had a sword in his hand so that, whether he wanted it or not, he survived to live another day, although not always unscathed. It was one such altercation that was witnessed by the Captain of the Musketeers who said his regiment needed men like him with such an innate ability with a weapon. One day, some weeks after their paths first crossed, Tréville confronted him about his upbringing, having made his own discreet inquiries amongst those with a detailed knowledge of the French aristocracy. As much as Athos would have preferred it, the Comte de la Fère, the head of one of the oldest families in the country, could not simply disappear from a large, wealthy estate and expect people not to notice. Everything about him signalled his nobility: the way he moved, spoke and behaved – when he wasn't in his cups - and he never made any attempt to hide his education, manners and ability to defend himself.

Tréville had found out enough that there was no point in denying it, so he grudgingly confessed to his identity, swore the Captain to an unwilling secrecy and revealed very little else. He did not need to. His reluctance to engage with those around him, aversion to anyone else knowing who he was, his determined silence and bouts of drunkenness all cried out to his being a deeply troubled young man with any number of inner demons. Athos often thought of himself as Tréville's lost cause, a challenge, someone who needed rescuing from himself. It took years but now he could look at the older man sitting with him with incalculable admiration, respect and, he had to admit, immense gratitude for Tréville – with more than a little help from Aramis and Porthos – had indeed saved him.

Now, though, Tréville was wanting – no, demanding- to learn about L'Hernault and Athos knew that he would not give up; his threat to remain until he got his answers was far from being an idle one. Athos' silence seemed to drag on but still the Captain sat there and quietly waited, sipping at his watered wine. He owed Tréville some sort of explanation - that much was clear.

Realisation slowly dawned. What he had to impart was not his story, not directly. He was involved merely because he was the father's son and he would be protecting his father's honour in his truthful telling of the tale. There was no reason to doubt his father's integrity when the former comte finally deemed him old enoughat fifteen to understand the reason behind the ongoing feud between the de la Fères and L'Hernaults.

Athos had betrayed his father's memory when he abandoned his duty as Comte but putting a stop to L'Hernault's twisted version of events would go a little way in making amends. He took a shuddering breath and began.


	66. Chapter 66

_**A longer chapter for you this time as there was no way I could interrupt Athos' story. I wait with bated breath for your opinion; I've made you wait long enough for the explanation!**_

_**Thank you to all who read and commented upon the previous chapter. Again, apologies if I have let any errors slip through here.**_

CHAPTER 66

"It is difficult to know where to start," Athos said.

"The very beginning?" Tréville suggested. "How did your fathers come to know each other?"

"My father and Guillaume L'Hernault were of a similar age and knew each other from childhood. The estates were not adjoining but close enough that they were encouraged in their friendship and met at social events. Then, when Guillaume reached the age of ten, my grandfather agreed to undertake his training. He stayed with the family until eighteen when his father died in a riding accident. As the only son and heir, he went home to manage the estate but was not averse to turning to Grandfather for advice. A few years later, during which time my father became Comte de la Fère, he and Guillaume fell in love with the same woman."

"The age-old story," Tréville acknowledged softly. "I presume it strained their friendship?"

"It destroyed it," Athos admitted. "According to my father, as they grew up, Guillaume was already showing signs of being resentful and it became more obvious once he became Baron. He did not have the social rank, lands and money of my family and it festered in him as they vied for the woman's hand in marriage."

"Let me guess. Your father was the successful one," the Captain stated.

Athos nodded. "Plague had taken the rest of her siblings so Aceline was the only surviving child; her dowry included money, jewellery, tapestries and, with the death of her father, more land and buildings, increasing further the de la Fère wealth. Guillaume complained that he had been cheated out of what should have been his, that she had sent him love tokens and letters and that, in a secret assignation with Aceline, she vowed that she loved him and was desperate to evade the arranged marriage being forced upon her."

"And had she?" Tréville asked, already immersed in the unfolding story. "Vowed that she loved him, I mean? How could she have had this assignation? Surely she had attendants. Had she managed to escape from them? What of the tokens? Did he produce them as evidence?" He saw the expression on Athos' face change to one of surprise at the interruption and flood of questions. "I am sorry. Please, continue."

The corners of Athos' mouth twitched at his Captain's obvious involvement and, somehow, it made the telling of the tale so much easier for him.

"Her two main attendants were both carefully questioned by her father and swore an oath to the effect that they knew where she was at all times so she could not have met with Guillaume. It was something she vehemently denied anyway. As to the letters, he had burned them, saying they would be incriminating for her if found because of her forwardness that she expressed in them, but he described the two love tokens. She had sent them and the letters to my father, but they were never delivered. He had intercepted them somehow. When asked, she was able to repeat, without hesitation, what she had written and there was nothing untoward in the content. What he refused to accept was that her marriage to my father, ostensibly an arranged one, was fortunate to be founded on a genuine love match."

"He was bitter in defeat then," Tréville commented.

"And became more reckless and wild in the process," Athos went on. "Not to be outdone, he rushed into a marriage with a girl of lower standing than him; her family were merchants, albeit successful ones. He demanded a ridiculously large dowry but, eager for the daughter to marry into a title, they agreed. From later servants' gossip, it was not a happy marriage and there was no real evidence of love. He was drinking heavily and abusive to her, but he achieved his objective. He claimed openly that he wanted a son before my father produced one." Athos sighed, "And so Etienne L'Hernault was born."

"Not a particularly warm welcome into the world, then?"

"Definitely not, especially when his mother died in the effort to give him life. Strangely, Guillaume seemed happier by the situation. He no longer had to endure an annoying wife, but he had the benefit of her money and she had, at least, given him a son."

"Shades of England's Henry," Tréville observed.

"But without the pain of mourning her at her passing," Athos added. "It seems he doted on the boy though, in the beginning, but about three months later, it was announced that Aceline was with child and it ignited in Guillaume such a frenzied jealousy, that fears grew for his reason." Athos gazed at the Captain. "No doubt you have realised that Aceline was my mother and I was the child she was carrying?"

Tréville nodded as Athos sighed, his features darkening.

"When I was born, Guillaume went mad. As far as he was concerned, I was the son that should have been his and he must have told himself that so often that he came to believe that he was my real father. Just as he had flaunted the notion that my mother had promised herself to him, so he now declared that they had had an affair and I was the result. He did not care who heard; he just wanted people to believe that I was not the true de la Fère heir. He claimed," and here Athos' voice dropped to little more than a whisper so Tréville was forced to lean forward to listen, "that he had successfully planted his bastard cuckoo in the comte's nest and that my mother was nothing more than a whore."

His eyes tightly shut to the painful part of the story, Athos drew in deep, ragged breaths. Tréville hardly dared breathe himself for the story was not developing as he had anticipated. He made to lay a comforting hand on Athos' arm but when he saw the bowed head and the struggle to regain composure, he desisted.

"My father could not let this rest. It was a matter of honour to defend his wife, child and the family name against such defamation. As the law of the area, my father had different possibilities. He could try to reason with the unreasonable man, demand some sort of redress or, because Henri had not succeeded in banning duelling at that time, make his challenge. He was prepared to attempt all three.

"He visited the L'Hernault estate and, on his arrival, had the first warning that Guillaume had most definitely lost all reason now. His estate was almost ruined, crops had failed, his tenants were frightened and starving, and his manor house had fallen into disrepair, all in less than two years."

"The man was a mess," Tréville affirmed, "and it sounds like it was of his own making."

Athos shrugged, "Perhaps, but I have since learned that there was a history of madness within the family, although it was not apparent in every generation."

"And you believe circumstances brought this insanity to the fore?" Tréville qeried.

This time, there was a nod in response. "I cannot believe anything else. There was no weight to his story, no evidence to his claims, merely wild accusations. My father knew, as soon as he set eyes upon Guillaume at the manor house, that there was no satisfaction in challenging him or defeating a man who had lost his wits. The problem was how to stop his slander. The estate was so run down that he could not afford to pay compensation demanded by any court.

"My father attempted to speak but Guillaume was armed with a sword and attacked him." Athos' eyes met his Captain's at last. "He had no choice and it was soon over. He was forced to defend himself from the madman who had once been his closest friend. My father had acquaintances but, as I grew up, I do not recall there ever being one whom he would term 'friend', close or otherwise."

He gasped as the realisation hit him that he was similar in erecting a defensive wall around himself. That was exactly what the late Comte had done.

"Like father, like son," Tréville said gently, understanding immediately what had initiated such a reaction but there was something else he needed to know. "And this is your father's version of events?"

"Told to me over the years," Athos admitted. "The feud was very one-sided, but my father warned me that he believed Etienne would seek to perpetuate it. We understood from gossip that he was raised by an embittered aunt who uttered poison in his ear. He believed the version told to her by his father. She doted on her brother and saw him as the victim in all this. Perhaps, she was as mad as him, I don't know. Anyway, it appears that Etienne carried on his father's irrational jealousy of me and was incensed that, as his supposed illegitimate half-brother, I should have more than him! It sounds such a preposterous tale now that I have spoken it aloud to someone not of the family."

He saw Tréville raise a questioning eyebrow and it dawned on him what the Captain was implying. His eyes narrowed in sudden anger.

"I have absolutely no reason to doubt my father. He and I may have had our differences in the past, and he would abhor what I have done with my life since his passing, but my father never told a falsehood. I would defend his honour to the last on that matter."

"I am sorry for casting aspersions, but you do see that I had to ask. L'Hernault obviously believes exactly the same of his own father," Tréville explained.

Athos nodded his acceptance of the apology. "Do you accept now that I just want to talk with him? You must see that I have to come to Versailles to put an end to this.."

Tréville hesitated. "On the contrary, from what you have told me, I should refuse your request. If he is like his father, he may well react the same as his father before him did to yours."

Athos dared to give a wry smile. "You said 'should', rather than 'would.'"


	67. Chapter 67

_**Thank you for responses to yesterday's chapter. I wonder, is Athos being realistic to think he can succeed where his father failed? He's still angling to go to Versailles. **_

_**Tomorrow will see the departure for Versailles.**_

_**Giving you advance warning - I'm away at a writing conference/course at the weekend so there'll be no updates on Saturday and Sunday. **_

CHAPTER 67

I

When the rains fell on the Monday and into Tuesday morning, Tréville cursed under his breath as he thought of the roads turning to mud and the prospect of carriages and carts becoming bogged down. The Captain had allowed a very generous two and a half hours for the journey, factoring in at least one stop to enable the laden carts to catch up as the line of carriages beginning with that of the royal couple would move more quickly. If the inclement weather persisted, then the route to Versailles would inevitably be slower.

Athos' exercise had been curtailed to walking round and round the infirmary, his general demeanour as ominous as the weather but as Tuesday wore on, the rain stopped, the clouds dissipated, the sun emerged to begin drying out the terrain and he ventured round the yard's perimeter to visit Serge in his kitchen. The cook, delighted to see him, sat him at a table, declaring that he was employing the young Musketeer as his official food taster. Claude, who had been in tow for the expedition, was satisfied that he had arrived somewhere safely, nodded knowingly towards Serge and discreetly exited.

"I think this is more than a morsel to be sampling," Athos said drily as he studied the steaming bowl of stew that had just been set before him.

He was still there nearly two hours later, peeling potatoes and contentedly listening to Serge regaling him with stories of past conflicts when the Captain walked in and was greeted by the two men.

"Room for another one?" Tréville asked casually and Athos slid along the bench a little.

"I am popular today," Serge declared, slapping another bowl on the table before the Captain. "Get that down you. I'm probably right in thinkin' you've not bothered to eat since first thing."

Tréville attacked the food, swallowing several spoonsful before speaking.

"All is now set. There is nothing that remains undone. Departure from here is at nine on Thursday morning. I would prefer to be leaving earlier but there is no guarantee that the King will stir himself to be ready for ten as it is. If the weather continues to improve, the party can make good time and be at Versailles by early afternoon." He looked at Athos, pre-empting the inevitable comment about joining the group.

"Carveau comes later this afternoon to see how you are faring."

"And he will find me much improved and able to travel," Athos declared.

Serge overheard and snorted, "You don't give up, boy, do you? I'll give you that much."

Athos' eyes met Tréville's.

"I know what you're doing," the Captain announced gruffly, pushing the empty bowl away from him and standing up. "You're trying to wear me down, but I refuse to say anything until I have heard from Carveau himself."

II

"He's more determined than I gave him credit for," Carveau said later as he met with the Captain.

"Tell me something I didn't know," Tréville sighed. "You were accurate in other ways though. It has been impossible to keep him in bed or in the infirmary."

Carveau chuckled. "He is making good progress; the wound is infection-free now and healing nicely, but the stitches should not come out for another few days. His stamina level is still low. He appeared very tired when I saw him just now, but I am probably correct in guessing that is because he is pushing himself."

"He is adamant about being at Versailles," Tréville said, unwilling to explain any further.

"I still do not see how effective he thinks he can be; the journey alone is going to take its toll. However, leaving him here could be detrimental to his recovery and his state of mind, especially when he is so set on going. The decision is yours, Captain, but I suspect that trying to stop him would be about as effective as trying to stop a runaway stallion!"

III

Wednesday's weather was even better and Tréville could finally believe that the journey was going to be straightforward after all. The garrison was busy as equipment that had been inventoried and checked was finally packed into the regiment's carts. Serge had taken final deliveries of foodstuffs and had selected what was to be left for those men remaining in Paris, even as he issued Artus with last-minute instructions for he was staying too. The boy clung to every word, excited that he was being given such responsibility and eager to do his best.

The Captain left his office, reading through the list of jobs in his hand and descending the stairs to ascertain what had been completed and what was left to do.

"Captain!"

Claude was weaving his way through the crowded yard and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard.

"I've lost him," he moaned.

Tréville did not need to ask who. He did not need this, not now, not today, not when the garrison was the scene of such organised chaos.

"Have you checked with Serge? Looked in the places he wandered to yesterday?"

"I've been everywhere an' went to the stables last,"

"And?" Tréville's heart sank as he knew what he was about to be told.

"His 'orse has gone; him with it. Bribed the boy to saddle it for 'im an' to bring a mountin' block."

Of course Athos would need help to get into the saddle.

"Did he say where he was going?"

Claude shook his head. "Want me to go out lookin' for 'im?"

Tréville contemplated the offer, his mind reeling. Part of him wanted Claude to go in pursuit, to bring back the idiot so that he could rail at him for being so selfish and causing such alarm. Just as swiftly, the anger turned to fear. Supposing Athos had over-reached himself this time and got into trouble somewhere distant from the garrison? He could have passed out anywhere and fallen from the animal. Tréville's attention abruptly turned to the archway, as if he expected a rider-less horse to appear. Athos could have left a message, written or verbal. Would it have hurt him to have told the stable boy something, anything?

Then the Captain knew. Any delay added to the risk of Athos being discovered, his intentions halted. Being on a horse was the final hurdle and Athos had to know if he could endure the long ride to Versailles. Yes, he could say to Tréville that he had proved his point, but he needed to prove it to himself first.

Tréville shook his head. "No. He has to do this. We will reconsider our options in two hours if he hasn't returned by then."

"You're thinkin' of lettin' 'im go to Versailles after all, aren't you?" Claude gasped.

IV

They did not have to wait two hours. It was thirty minutes later that Athos rode into the yard, carefully manoeuvring the animal around the working men and heading to the stables. Tréville, who was still in the yard and monitoring progress, strode over and stared up at him.

"Enjoy your ride?" he asked, trying to keep his voice devoid of censure or concern.

"Generally speaking, yes." Athos sat with a discernible lean to the right, keeping the wounded side awkwardly straight.

"Are you intending to remain up there all day?"

Athos' face was expressionless. "I had thought to dismount without an audience," he admitted.

Tréville leaned against a post and folded his arms. "Then I am sorry to disappoint you. I would see your dismount after your ride."

The stable boy hovered in the shadows and holding the mounting block but Tréville indicated to him to stay where he was.

Athos frowned, kicked his foot free from the right stirrup and tried to push up to bring his right leg over the saddle behind him. He could not help but cry out as the pain tore through him and he immediately abandoned the attempt. He sat in the saddle, head bowed, eyes shut and breathing through the agony.

It was hard but Tréville did not move as Athos clenched his teeth and tried again, this time adopting the method occasionally favoured by Porthos, that of bringing his right leg up and over the horse's head but again, his body complained violently and he groaned aloud.

Tréville straightened and bellowed out into the yard for Claude before moving to Athos' side and resting a reassuring hand on his arm.

"The pain draught has worn off," Athos moaned.

"Then we will do this another way with Claude's help." He dismissed the stable boy, aware that Athos would not want any more witnesses than necessary.

Claude arrived, taking in the situation in a heartbeat.

"To right or left?" Tréville asked. "Whichever way, it will hurt, but we will have it over and done with as quickly as possible."

"Left," Athos muttered.

Tréville looked at Claude and nodded before they both reached upwards.

"Lean towards us. Don't do anything else; we've got you and will pull you down," the Captain ordered.

It seemed to take longer than it did, but Athos was eventually standing on the ground, his knuckles white as he clung to the saddle, his forehead resting against the warm leather and agonised tears filling his eyes.

Tréville stood close, his strong arm around Athos' back keeping the young man on his feet, and his decision made.

"Perhaps," Tréville said quietly so that only Athos could hear, "you will give in now and be content to ride in the cart with Serge."


	68. Chapter 68

_**Thanks, everybody, for comments and for reading. These short chapters are killing me; roll on the time when I can write 'proper' length ones. (lol) The irony is that these are still far too long for the work for which I was 'practising!'**_

_**So, departure day for Versailles has at last arrived!**_

CHAPTER 68

I

Aramis and Porthos rose with the sun on the Thursday morning, d'Artagnan having been responsible for the last watch of the night. The need for such care was not as necessary as it had been when they first camped as the area had filled with loyal nobles and their men, all assisting in a level of security in case Gaston's men had taken it upon themselves to undertake some scouting and came a little too close. If anything, the three groups waiting north west of Versailles were very lax for Porthos and d'Artagnan had monitored their presence daily from a distance.

Since their arrival on the hillside, Porthos had also struck out a couple of times to ascertain if any of the rebel nobles were approaching but had not seen anything.

"They're probably keepin' their distance a bit further out; like we are here," he said as the three began to gather their belongings together in preparation of breaking camp.

"Versailles must be almost surrounded by now," d'Artagnan quipped as he stuffed some screwed-up clothing into his saddle bag

A flock of birds flew overhead, and Aramis followed their flight, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. It promised to be as hot a day as the previous one, which had been much needed to dry out their rain-sodden possessions.

"How I wish I could see the area from their point of view," he said wistfully. "It would be interesting to see the exact location of the different camps in relation to each other."

Porthos snorted, the idea entertaining , "Yeah, as if that's ever goin' to 'appen." He, too, looked at the birds. "What are they, the noisy things?"

"Finches," d'Artagnan said, concentrating on doing up the buckle of the bag.

Porthos' jaw dropped. "You didn't even look up."

"He's a country boy, remember?" Aramis laughed.

"They were in those trees earlier," he nodded towards the wood that would have been their sanctuary, had they needed it. "I recognised their song."

"He's a country boy," Porthos confirmed.

Head bowed to focus again on his work, d'Artagnan missed the broad grins exchanged by the two Musketeers.

"So, what've you decided with the nobles?" Porthos asked, changing the subject.

"They want to meet with Tréville when he arrives to know what is expected of them," the marksman explained.

"D'you think he'll stop 'ere on his way through to the lodge?"

Aramis shook his head. "He'll lead the King's party along the normal route. There are those involved in the plot who are with the King and Tréville won't want them to know of the force that's gathering here. No, he'll see the King safely to the lodge first and then come over. That's why we ought to be on the move. I'd like to meet the Captain on the road and tell him how many have arrived here so far."

"Sounds like a fair plan to me," Porthos answered and looked across at d'Artagnan, wanting to know his reaction.

The Gascon got to his feet. "I agree."

II

Tréville closed his office door firmly and was busy donning his gloves as he headed down to the crowded yard. Some men stood beside their mounts, others checked saddles and harness and not for the first time; they repeated the action merely to keep themselves occupied and focused. More men were already outside the gate, lining up in the street, their sheer number and the two laden carts rendering it impossible for all to assemble easily in the yard. The sounds that met Tréville were the murmur of quiet conversation, the snort of horses eager for the off and the jingle of harness, but the men fell silent as his first foot touched the dry ground, awaiting any last orders. The tension in the air was palpable for they all knew this was no ordinary hunting trip.

Late the previous afternoon, the Captain had mustered the men accompanying him to Versailles. Still loathe to divulge too much whilst in the city for fear of information somehow reaching the wrong ears, he had promised to brief them properly when they made camp at Versailles. He reminded them of the rules he had made in relation to the Red Guard who would also be accompanying them in significant numbers and finished with the recommendation that they enjoy their last few hours in the city but not to excess. A clear head and an early night had been the order of the day.

The stable boy was near the bottom of the stairs, talking softly to the Captain's horse as the animal stood placidly waiting. Tréville took the reins from the boy and swung up into the saddle with ease. He scrutinised the men before him, taking in their appearance, and felt a surge of pride at the sight of them. They were a credit to themselves, him and, ultimately, the King, and he doubted that the Red Guard would be turned out so immaculately. He immediately reprimanded himself for his competitiveness; now was not the time for such petty diversion.

He suddenly noticed the cart with Serge sitting up front and, beside him, Athos, resplendent in his leathers and blue cape. He was leaning back on the bench seat, obviously trying to find the most comfortable position, a worrying sign when they had not even left for the palace. Tréville had visited him late the previous evening, just before retiring. Athos' expedition on horseback had used the last of the draughts left by Aramis; they had been left merely to dull the pain whilst he was immobile, not to be relied upon before and after his recent 'escape attempts', as Tréville was wont to call them.

"I sent to Carveau," Tréville had announced on entering the infirmary.

Athos set down the book he had been reading and looked up, discomfort written all over his face. The ride had taken its toll.

"I told him what medication we had here but that, in light of your recent experience, I needed some guidelines on how much to give you. He sent instruction but also provided several measures of a draught that he claimed was stronger and more suited to getting you through the journey ahead. I have brought you two, one for now to ease your pain and the other to be taken before we leave tomorrow. Ask me when you require any more."

The Captain already knew from Claude that Athos had passed a quiet night, sleeping well, and that he had taken the morning dose with food before venturing from his bed. It was to be hoped that it was strong enough to help the young Musketeer; if not, it was going to be a very miserable journey for him. It was against his better judgement that Tréville had finally acquiesced to Athos' request to go to Versailles, but his conviction had wavered in the face of such determination.

Besides, there were advantages to having Athos there. Tréville had a chance of knowing where he was most of the time; otherwise, he would not put it past the Musketeer to leave Paris after a couple of days and attempt to make the journey on his own. This was the safer option and he could always find plenty of tasks to keep the younger man occupied. The Captain could insist upon having his Lieutenant accompany him to meetings from here onwards and instruct the other three _Inseparables _to keep him with them when they were not on duty. It did not guarantee that Athos would not find some way to evade them if he put his mind to it, but Tréville had another idea that might cover all eventualities. Once at Versailles, he would have Athos identify L'Hernault for him and then the Captain would assign a 'shadow' to Gaston's man.

As soon as possible, he would learn if L'Hernault made a move towards Athos, and vice versa.

At least that was his theory.


	69. Chapter 69

_**Bit early with this chapter so I hope no-one misses it! Heading north in a couple of hours for the weekend writing conference so there will be no ch 70 until Monday or Tuesday. Hope I've not let any errors slip through with this chapter. Thanks for reading and leaving comments.**_

_**Made an error which I have just changed. Many thanks, Beeblegirl, for being eagle-eyed. Much appreciated; head's been in the clouds all day!**_

CHAPTER 69

I

"I am sure there is something I could do at Versailles, listen at keyholes, keep someone occupied for you …" Milady de Winter offered, sounding almost bored. After all, she did not want Richelieu to know just how keen she was to be at the hunting lodge or why.

She was standing at the window looking out at the impressive column of riders, carts and carriages as they waited for the King to appear from his apartments so that the journey could at last begin. He, the Queen and the Cardinal were the only ones left to join the party. She could see the Captain of the Musketeers pacing impatiently at the foot of the steps leading up to the entrance and slapping the leather gloves against his thigh as he repeatedly looked towards the door; it was already more than thirty minutes after the time he had set to leave.

Some of the horses were becoming restless and their riders either struggled to keep them in line or slipped from the saddles to hold the skittish animals' heads to quieten them.

"I have no doubt that I could find you something to do but where would I hide you? It is only a lodge after all and I fear the walls will be bulging with guests and servants as it is," Richelieu said from behind her, pushing the last of some papers into a leather satchel and picking it up.

"I could stay in a village nearby. What about Viroflay? You could send word to me there if anything arises," and she turned to face him, her expression coquettish.

Richelieu's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why are you so eager to be at Versailles?" He had no way of knowing a similar question had been put to the Musketeer Athos every day since he had regained his senses.

She gave an unconvincing shrug. "No reason. I just thought that I could make myself useful. I lack incentive; there has been little to do since I returned from Troyes apart from following some courtiers for you. That was very unexciting. You might at least have let me kill one of them," she teased, her lips pouting.

Richelieu huffed in exasperation. "I have nothing at the moment. Look upon the next few days as your opportunity to have some time for yourself. Now I must go and chivvy along His Majesty, otherwise I shall have to put up with Tréville complaining. Await my return," and with that, he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

She turned to the window again, her green eyes finding Athos immediately once she had noticed him on the supply wagon. She had been surprised to see him the first time for she had never expected him to be there, thinking that he had not yet recovered sufficiently from his injuries. If he was in the cart, riding must still present a problem. It was wrong to underestimate Athos and a surge of bitter anger consumed her. How had he managed to survive? If reports were to be believed, he was near death when found.

The palm of her hand slapped against the window and then her fingers arched, claw-like, her nails scraping against the glass as if she would symbolically grab and crush him in her grasp.

If Richelieu had no need of her, then she could do as she pleased, and it pleased her to go to Viroflay. From there, it was little more than a league to the hunting lodge.

II

Richelieu followed Their Majesties down the steps and watched as Tréville greeted them, a Musketeer holding open the carriage door and handing the Queen up into its interior.

Louis greeted the Captain and turned to include the Cardinal as he said, unnecessarily loudly, "Beautiful weather for a hunting party, isn't it, gentlemen. I am so looking forward to this trip." He wore a fixed, wide grin as his voice dropped and his eyes hardened. "I am relying on the two of you to ensure that I return to the Louvre in the best of health, otherwise it will not go well for you, either of you." He gave a cheery wave to servants who had gathered to watch proceedings and then disappeared within the carriage.

"If he is not in the best of health, it will not be for the want of effort from us and he will most probably be far beyond worryingly," Richelieu muttered ominously to Tréville before walking on to the next carriage, which was his.

Pausing before he clambered inside, he beckoned to a member of the Red Guard who was not in the escort.

"You know what to do?" the Cardinal asked.

The man nodded without uttering a word.

"Then do it," Richelieu ordered, and the man immediately slipped away.

Out of habit, he glanced up to the windows of the room he had just vacated and saw Milady still there, only partially concealed by the heavy drape and her hand against the glass. Angry that she was visible, he then realised that she was not looking at him but was staring at something – or someone – further down the line. Stepping to one side and craning his neck, he could see quite a way down the column and tried to identify what had distracted her.

There he was, the Musketeer Athos, obviously very much alive and accompanying the party to Versailles after all. No wonder she had wanted to be there too. He slapped the side of the coach in frustration at his error of judgement. He should have found some definite task to take her away from Paris in the opposite direction. By releasing her to 'amuse herself', he knew her well enough to suspect that she would follow the royal party and with all that could possibly unravel at Versailles, he did not need her arriving to add another complication to proceedings by exacting some revenge upon her estranged husband.

III

Gilles de Mayenne groaned at the hammering inside his head. He and Francois Allaire had held a private and premature celebration in his rooms the previous evening and he had partaken of far too much wine. Now Allaire would be on his way to Versailles as one of the privileged hunting party and there he would see things come to fruition. Gaston had hinted that both of them would be well-rewarded for their loyalty and de Mayenne dreamed of social elevation and financial remuneration.

The hammering persisted and he eventually realised that it was to the main door of his rooms. Someone was impatient.

Moaning, he sat up, the room spinning and nausea rolling in his belly.

"I'm coming," he shouted grumpily and winced at the sound he was making. He reached for his robe and then noticed that he was still full clothed. "It was a very good night," he reminded himself with a lop-sided grin as he waddled unsteadily to the outer door and the hammering continued.

"What's so urgent that a man can't sleep?" he demanded, throwing open the door to discover a solid wall of Red Guard, six or eight at a rough count.

"Gilles de Mayenne?" the Guard immediately in front of him demanded.

"Yes," de Mayenne blustered.

"I have orders from His Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu, to place you under arrest." The soldier's face and tone were devoid of expression.

"Arrest?" de Mayenne's voice had risen an octave. "What for?"

"You are charged with treason," the soldier announced as he stood aside, allowing two other guards to step forward and seize the man by the arms.

He was still feebly protesting as they dragged him from his doorway and down the corridor.


	70. Chapter 70

_**Greetings. A slightly longer chapter today (a 'montage' chapter as I learned at the weekend!) to make up for my absence. Anybody who is anybody is now assembling somewhere at or around Versailles!**_

_**Once again, I am indebted to Beeblegirl for spotting an absolute howler on Friday. My thoughts were on heading north for the writing course and as I was writing ch 69, I was thinking of ch 70 and got the two confused. **_

_**Anyway,'all's well that ends well!' I seem to have heard that somewhere before (lol!)**_

_**In brief, the course was very intense, hard work, exhausting, definitely worth it … and brilliant. Especially Sunday on crime writing! Hopefully, I can consciously apply what I have learned and that you will all start reaping the benefits (or not!)**_

CHAPTER 70

I

Tréville did not slow the column when he saw the three riders approaching at speed, recognising them from a distance.

He greeted the men with a nod as Aramis fell in on one side of him, Porthos the other and d'Artagnan beyond him.

"Have you had a good journey so far?" Aramis asked.

"Uneventful," Tréville answered, "and I persuaded His Majesty that we could manage with only one stop, but I am sure you are not here just for the pleasantries."

"No," Aramis grinned. "We have good news. Six nobles with sizeable followings have arrived and they total about two hundred, all bearing arms."

"That is a goodly number."

"They're also expecting to meet with you later once the royal party is settled at the lodge. One noble also brought word that he knew of at least two more mobilising and heading our way. They are due to be with us this evening or tomorrow at the latest."

Tréville's cheeks puffed out with relief. "That betters the odds considerably, although it still depends upon how many the rebels can raise if they are so inclined to engage us."

Aramis nodded but his concentration was elsewhere as he twisted in his saddle to look back down the line for any glimpse of a familiar figure, only to find his view obscured by the King's carriage.

Tréville could guess the reason for the man's distraction.

"He's here, although he shouldn't be. He's towards the rear of the column, riding in the supply cart with Serge. Just keep him out of my way for the rest of the day. I am trying to decide between murder and court martial where he's concerned, and both are equally attractive!"

II

Athos sat with his eyes closed, partly to deter Serge's chatter but more to enable him to focus on riding out the waves of pain caused by each jolt of the cart. The last draught was still serving its purpose when they made a brief stop, so it had not occurred to him to ask for another dose, not even when the Captain rode the line during their brief stop and asked how he was faring. He normally liked to listen to Serge's tales but not when he was trying to endure such a miserable journey. Now he sought to divert himself by mulling over events as he knew them, preparing what he might say to L'Hernault should they come face to face, and remembering to breathe through the pain.

"You seem to have upset the Captain," an amused voice declared.

He opened one eye enough to take in Aramis riding beside the cart and closed it again, but not before he had seen the other two also arrive. There was a distinct satisfaction in the knowledge.

"He _seemed_ to develop an unreasonable aversion to my accompanying the group, but a little gentle persuasion convinced him otherwise."

The loud snort was from Serge. "You call that 'gentle persuasion'?"

"What would you call it?" d'Artagnan wondered.

"'Ow about bribery, blackmail, open threat, outright defiance an' sheer bloody-mindedness?"

"Athos on a normal day then," Porthos observed, to which the men laughed. All except Athos, who rolled his eyes.

"I have to admit that I have enjoyed your absence," he added pointedly.

"Only because they weren't there to stop you getting' up to your tricks," Serge added.

Athos stared at him, aghast. "Whose side are you on?"

"The Captain's." There was no hesitation. "But I reckon I'm pleased to 'ave these three back again. I've decided I'm not cut out for nursemaid, not when you're the patient. This time last week I had a head o' dark hair."

It was, of course, a lie. The grizzled old-timer had had a shock of unruly, wiry grey hair for as long as they had known him, but he had made his point.

"Don't you worry, Serge. We're here now to sit on 'im if need be. When we get back to Paris, I'll stand you a drink or two at 'The Wren'. I reckon you've deserved it. Then you can tell us jus' what he's been getting' up to because 'e won't be admittin' it 'imself."

The old man grinned. "I'll keep you to that, Porthos."

III

The next few hours passed in a whirl of busyness. Tréville mounted the first duty watch of Musketeers in the lodge itself and Red Guard around the perimeter, whilst Richelieu ensured that the royal couple were settled comfortably. The rest of the hunting party were likewise accommodated, the more higher-ranking aristocracy within the lodge and others in the rapidly expanding city of tents that was growing up in the open land behind the building. They maintained some semblance of luxury, occupying spacious pavilions or curved marquees and if any paused to consider the increased number of attendant soldiers camped around them in a protective arc, none made mention of it. They probably deemed it a necessary compromise for, with some of them already identified as being among the 'untrustworthy', all had been discouraged from bringing a sizeable retinue. Those determined to fight would have sent their men in advance on a circuitous route to join with Gaston's force.

Richelieu and Tréville had attempted to minimise the risk of an uprising happening within the camp and had deliberately positioned their men between the hunting party and the rebel positions in the event of an attack.

A lull in proceedings before the evening's banquet gave Tréville the opportunity to meet with those nobles loyal to the King and he was already in his saddle ready to depart when Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan rode approached him on horseback.

"You are all accompanying me?" he asked.

"An' there's me thinkin' you'd been missin' us over the past few days. Sounds like you don't want us," Porthos quipped.

"It's not that," the Captain said, trying to make light of things. "I was thinking that, given your absence, one or two of you might have remained with Athos."

"No point; 'e's sleepin' like a babe."

The comment alarmed Tréville even more, given Athos' variety of ruses to escape from the infirmary.

"The journey exhausted him. Once we'd pitched a tent, we got him settled. I confess to adding a little something to his water to help him rest more easily. He won't wake until this evening," Aramis explained.

It was some reassurance. The sleeping draught would keep Athos immobile and Tréville could only hope that there had been no opportunity for L'Hernault to see that he was still alive. All should be well until they returned. After all, it was not as if Athos were alone; the tent in which he slept was amongst many more, all identical.

IV

Some distance from the edge of the Musketeer camp, a figure, concealed amongst the trees, pocketed the spy glass. Milady, wearing male clothing for ease of movement, knew exactly which tent Athos had entered, that he remained within it and that he was entirely alone for she had watched the others depart.

She took a deep breath and, checking the belt at her waist, felt the reassuring touch of the concealed dagger's hilt. There was little other movement at this particular end of the Musketeer camp for they were either on guard somewhere, or about their business as they settled at Versailles for the next few days. It would be so easy to move in for she had already identified those on watch around the camp. They were Richelieu's men and lackadaisical in their vigilance but, she sighed, she would have to curb her impatience to settle matters with her husband.

First, she had to get a message to Richelieu.

Riding alone, she had been able to move quickly. She had not wanted to follow the King's party but chose a parallel route further north and it was then that she saw them.

Four sizeable groups of men were riding in the general direction of Versailles and were trying, unsuccessfully, to appear inconspicuous. A significant distance remained between the units, but she knew instinctively that they were travelling together for some purpose. She continued to watch, waiting for them to change direction and veer south, an indication that they were joining the nobles Richelieu had contacted for she knew what he had done and where the men were mustering.

These riders continued on a path that would take them north of Versailles. So the discontented nobles had produced some sort of small army after all. The individual groups would be no problem for the highly trained Musketeers but giving them the chance to join together and align with Gaston's men would be another matter entirely.

She hoped that the Cardinal had garnered some strong support but, for now, she needed to warn him that the rebel forces were gathering.


	71. Chapter 71

_**Apologies for the delay in adding this chapter - been a bit of a hectic week.**_

_**Many thanks to readers and for responses to chapter 70. I'm sorry if I have let any errors slip through here.**_

_**To all of you in these uncertain times, look after yourselves and please keep in touch. A brief word would suffice but long silences let the imagination work overtime!**_

CHAPTER 71

I

Tréville rode back to the hunting lodge with Aramis beside him; Porthos and d'Artagnan followed them both and were deep in conversation. Aramis was content to let the Captain ride in silence until ready to speak; no doubt he was thinking about the successful meeting he had held with the loyal nobles in which he elaborated upon the information they had received in the letters from Richelieu and the explanations that Aramis had been allowed to give. The meeting had then progressed to the strategic, who would be where in the event of an attack and the understanding that the Musketeer officer would have the ultimate authority in protecting their Majesties. The fact that Richelieu was prepared to defer power in this matter to Tréville made it easier for the nobles to accept and comply, thereby making their forces available to him.

It was a big responsibility for the man, and he was looking weary, enough that Aramis was considering ways in which he might raise the subject and offer some remedy that might aid a more restful sleep.

"That went well," Tréville suddenly announced. "It is reassuring to have such men in whom we can trust and who have promised their support."

"I'm glad," Aramis agreed, and he genuinely was pleased if for no other reason than the fact that it helped ease the burden shouldered by the officer.

Tréville's face darkened. "As long as they are all trustworthy, of course, and Richelieu and I have not made some terrible mistake in identifying those who are loyal."

Aramis frowned and tut-tutted. "Stop doubting yourself. You and the Cardinal have poured over the arrangements for days. These men were not selected upon a whim. Even Richelieu would not have contacted them if he had any remaining suspicions about their reliability."

The Captain sighed and ran a hand tiredly over his face. "You're right, of course. We have prepared for this trip for so long, gone over every single possibility and various outcomes so that, somehow, it is a relief to be here in the field at last and to face whatever transpires but still …" His voice trailed off and he pointedly looked in the opposite direction to Aramis.

"You still wonder of you have missed anything. That is understandable."

"Athos was able to make a couple of suggestions, even after everything we'd done."

"Athos?" Aramis was surprised.

Tréville turned to face him, a devious smile on his face as he explained about giving the injured Musketeer all the documents to study as a means of occupying him.

The marksman chortled with amusement. "Has he really been giving you the run around? I don't think I've ever heard you mention him, murder and court martial in the same breath before."

"Oh I've thought about it often enough," he said and, when Aramis laughed again, he added, "about all of you." It was his turn to smirk at the younger man's reaction.

They rode on in silence a little way.

"He has been …. difficult," Tréville admitted eventually, careful as to what he revealed and yet he needed to let the other man know of his concerns. "Perhaps more so than when he has been injured before."

"Why though?" Aramis was perplexed. "Why this time more than any other?"

"He wanted to be at Versailles."

"But why?" Aramis persisted.

Tréville could not betray Athos' trust and mention L'Hernault, for to do that would force him to reveal the Musketeer's past, but nor would he tell a downright lie to the men who had so freely given of their brotherhood and friendship.

"Too much time and preparation has been expended upon this venture," Tréville said, evading that issue and relating the other truths as he knew them. "He wishes to be a part of it. He feels it is his duty as a Musketeer to be here. From our conversations, he has accepted that he is no condition to fight or stand for long periods on guard duty, but he has offered me any assistance in other ways."

"And you agree with that?" Aramis could not hide the accusatory tone.

"Reluctantly. Eventually. He was not to be swayed so that I feared he might follow us here. I thought it more prudent to have him travel with us than to attempt the journey alone."

Silence fell again.

"I would be easier in my mind if he were not left alone."

Tréville's comment was totally unexpected and, as Aramis glanced at him, he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"One of you needs to be with him at all time. To give him something to induce sleep is not sufficient and would render him vulnerable."

"To what? Attack again? From whom?" Aramis' voice had risen in alarm, his rapid questions heard by Porthos and d'Artagnan whose conversation came to an abrupt halt. "What's been happening? What haven't you told us?"

Tréville reined in his horse and the others likewise halted. He twisted in his saddle so that he could see all three of them.

"I have reason to believe that the person behind the assault on him is here at Versailles and when that person realises that Athos still lives, may try again."

"But why?" This from d'Artagnan. "What is their reason for wanting him dead?"

Tréville opened his mouth to give the answer he had prepared as he rode but Porthos beat him to it.

"Because when they saw him at the meetin' outside Troyes, they recognised 'im as a Musketeer and knew that he was spyin' on 'em. They wanted 'im dead before he could get back with the information, but they failed an' when they see 'im alive an' kickin', they won't be 'appy about it and will try again because they want to and because they can."

II

Milady stood gazing down upon the sleeping figure of her husband.

Having paid a servant to act as an intermediary between her and the Cardinal with a message, she had waited in a nearby copse for Richelieu to take the late afternoon air and wander in her direction. As he paused to rest on a fallen tree-trunk, she had remained concealed within ear shot and told him what she knew of the approaching rebels. At first angry that she had come to Versailles when he had expressly forbidden it, he had to concede that she had valuable information and advocated that she remained in the area, spying upon the dissenters.

After that, it had been easy to circumvent the indolent Red Guards on duty and reach the outermost Musketeer tents from the rear. She slipped down the side of the one which she knew housed Athos and lingered to listen. At first there was nothing, no movement, no indication that he was still in there and then, suddenly, she heard them. Sporadic, gentle snores; the ones that had had her struggling to suppress giggles in happier days; the days when she had lain beside him, propped up on an elbow as she watched him sleep, utterly exhausted in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

He did not always snore; it tended to happen when he had imbibed a little too much wine and, together, they were giddy with happiness. She wondered if he had had too much to drink now for she knew of his reputation around the taverns of Paris, had spied on him from a distance as he had made his unsteady way home alone or watched whilst his brothers had controlled his drunken belligerence as they took him back to the garrison.

Standing at an arm's length from the cot, her eyes swept the interior of the tent and she spotted the upturned box serving as a table. On its top stood a simple tankard and the small bottle at its side. She un-stoppered it and sniffed warily at its contents, her lips twisting into a cruel smile.

Not drunk but sedated.

He was completely at her mercy.


	72. Chapter 72

**_Greetings, all. Thank you for reading the last chapter and leaving comments. Apologies for the couple of errors that crept through though. Hope there are none here as I've just done a proof-read._**

**_So, Milady presents a vengeful threat to Athos. What will she do here? _**

CHAPTER 72

Athos was still the man with whom she had fallen in love; a few years older, admittedly, and hardened by his life as a soldier but, in sleep, he seemed so young and free from the cares the waking world had foisted upon him. Some of the scars and calluses of his military existence were evident as he lay there on his back, his voluminous white shirt untucked from the waistband of his breeches and caught beneath him where it had ridden up, revealing a swathe of bandage. His left arm was draped lightly across his stomach, subconsciously protecting the wound to his side whilst the right arm and hand hung limply over the side of the cot.

She so desperately wanted to touch him: to feel the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his muscles, the dark chest hair, the roughness of his beard against her cheek and to stroke the soft, unruly curls from his forehead. He needed a haircut, she thought; he had always been so well groomed … before.

A wave of unbidden memories of a past life threatened to wash over her and she blinked away the tears. He had destroyed their happiness in the instant he looked down upon his dead brother and would not believe her when she told him what Thomas had tried to do. She had been forced to murder her brother-in-law to stop his lies and to save the love that she and Athos had for each other.

Except that Athos would not look at her, ignoring her hysterical pleas to believe her as she sobbed out her love for him. Instead, he had ordered the servants to lock her up whilst he acted as her judge and juror, refusing her appeals to visit her, ears closed to her story and cowed in his grief by the screaming invectives of that vile woman, Catherine, who was to have been his sister in marriage when she could not have him for her own.

From then, he had not been the man she married. How soon his love for her had died! She had seen the inscrutable expression on his face as she stood on the back of the cart beneath the tree, hands bound and the noose around her neck. He was such a coward that he could not wait to see his justice meted out by others on his behalf.

So he had turned his back and ridden away; away from Pinon, his responsibilities, his life and the precious memories they had created there.

Athos the coward.

She had not thought him capable of such weakness but then she saw him for the first time - and quite by accident - some three years later in a Paris tavern; he was in his cups and eaten away by melancholy and guilt for his rash judgement of her, or so she presumed. It served him right and she had no sympathy for him.

He wore the recognisable pauldron of the King's Musketeer regiment, so he'd gone on to rebuild his life there then. How quickly he had moved on whilst she ... She had done what she had to do to survive, no thanks to him. Now, then, he had an even greater excuse to kill people. Perhaps he had acquired a taste for it when he gave her the death sentence so easily. In the meantime, she had found employment with Richelieu, proving her usefulness to him time and again so that she rose quickly through the ranks of his trusted spies and assassins.

And all the time, bitterness festered in her heart. She watched him and she learned all she could of his new life without her, scoffing at the irony of his earning the admiration of his commanding officer and peers that culminated in his recent promotion to lieutenant. She knew of his friends, Aramis and Porthos and now, the Gascon d'Artagnan. She must be able to use that connection somehow to best effect.

She watched and she learned, and she plotted.

That she would have her revenge upon him one day for what he had done to her was never without doubt. She had come so close to that vengeance when he had been framed for murder, facing a firing squad for his crimes and for bringing the King's regiment into such disrepute. But then his meddling friends had discovered the truth and saved his miserable life at the very last moment. She had witnessed it all from an upper room at the Chatelet, her anticipation and excitement giving way to….what? When the execution had been halted by a shout from Aramis as he ran down the steps waving the King's pardon, she had felt something but, even now, she could not give it a name. Was it disappointment? Anger? Did she feel cheated? Was it all of them or something else? She was unsure.

What she did know was that her thirst for violent retribution had increased but she knew what patience was and so she had bided her time.

Until now.

She fingered the bejewelled choker at her neck that hid the rope burn forever marring her soft, white skin. He had done this to her, scarred her emotionally and physically, and he would not escape her. In his absence, she had tried, judged and sentenced him and now was the time for settling scores.

She quietly unsheathed her dagger and took a step closer.

How would she do this?

That was the moment when he stirred, and she froze. Shifting in his sleep and wincing at the sudden discomfort the movement caused him, he let out a sigh and settled again, his breathing soft and rhythmical once more. His slight change in position had stretched the opening of his shirt, untied as it was, causing it to lay bare his heart, that same heart he had once sworn was hers and hers alone.

She raised an eyebrow at the symbolic, sacrificial gesture. How easy it would be! One blow from a dagger held aloft and he would never know what had happened.

Or should she slit his throat? She could leave a mark upon his neck akin to the one that had been branded into hers.

_He would never know!_

She hesitated at the thought. He would die not knowing that it was by her hand, that she had lived despite his instruction to the contrary.

Milady frowned. Where was the satisfaction in that? She wanted the man who had left her to hang to know that she had survived, had bribed her executioner. She wanted him to realise that she was stronger than he was, that she could decide upon the justice he would suffer and that, unlike him, she had no qualms in delivering it. There was no need for anyone else to be involved. She no longer required the services of a firing squad for she was resolved to do the deed herself and whereas he had ridden away, unable to watch her die, nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see the light of life fade in his eyes as he looked at her, to hear and feel the last breath upon his lips.

She would kill him, and he would know it was her.

There was her satisfaction, her retribution but not today. Not now.

She slid the dagger into its sheath and, resisting the temptation to bend and kiss his warm mouth, she slipped out of the tent and disappeared.


	73. Chapter 73

**_Morning, the sun is shining, the sky is a sort of blue, there's a light breeze and it is spring. (Aiming on being positive here! Lol)_**

**_Every so often, you get one of those chapters that seems really straight forward when planned and then is the devil to write. This was the one and even now I'm not sure why I made such a mess of it. This is its third rewrite so I hope this one hits the mark!_**

**_Anyway, many thanks for the comments on the last chapter and ongoing support. _**

CHAPTER 73

I

Athos awoke slowly and lay still, staring upwards as his eyes focused on the roof of the tent. Instinctively, he knew that something was not right.

His hand hovered over his bandaged side but as long as he did not move his body, there was no pain, not even a dull ache. He slowly turned his head and surveyed the rest of the tent, judging from the dim light and the direction the tent faced that it must be very late in the afternoon, if not early evening. Everything was as it was when Aramis insisted that he rest. Things were untidy for the others had not had the time to sort things and stow their belongings and equipment properly. He wondered where they were and then he recalled them saying they were joining the Captain on a visit to the supportive nobles. They were not yet back then.

Sounds of activity outside reached him: men's voices in conversation, their words indistinct; someone's name bellowed across a distance and an indistinct reply; a burst of laughter and the clatter of pans so that he wondered how far they were from where Serge was positioned. His stomach suddenly rumbled at the thought of food; he had not eaten much all day, especially on the journey for the rolling and juddering action of the cart had made him feel nauseous. Most of the way, he had wished that he had been on horseback as that movement was familiar and enjoyable.

He gazed at the tent flaps, caught in a gentle breeze. Had the others left them untied? He had no way of knowing for he was asleep before they departed. His mouth felt dry; no doubt Aramis had given him something to assist in his rest! He knew, though, that some water would have been left within reach. He was correct; it was there on the upturned box by his side, along with the small bottle of whatever it was he had been given.

Carefully, he sat up and swung his legs slowly over the side of the cot. As he sat groggily on its edge he reached for the water and stopped, his hand mid-air. The bottle was un-stoppered and yet he could see that it still contained liquid, its level evident through the opaque glass. Aramis was never careless about medicines. It was a lengthy process in its preparation, even for the simplest of remedies. Other medication, procured from a physician or apothecary, was expensive and would lose its efficacy if left open to the elements. No, Aramis would not have left the bottle open.

He frowned, his unease growing and yet he could not explain it; he continued to pour himself some water. He would stopper the bottle afterwards.

As he lifted the cup to his lips, he suddenly smelt it – the faintest hint of a floral perfume on the air. It was enough for his breathing to become erratic, his heart to pound faster as memories flooded back. The cup fell from his clasp, its contents soaking into the ground as he lurched to his feet and stumbled from the tent.

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan saw him suddenly emerge and bend.

"He sick?" Porthos frowned.

Aramis raised a hand to halt his brothers. "Don't know. Wait here."

He strode across the grass to where Athos stood, hands on knees, eyes closed and breathing hard.

"What's wrong?" Aramis asked softly, a hand on his friend's back.

Athos straightened, still taking deep breaths. "Felt sick. It has passed."

"So what brought that on?"

Athos, his face haunted, looked anywhere but straight at him. Porthos and d'Artagnan, ignoring Aramis' instruction, tentatively approached in time to hear Athos' words.

"I thought … it was … in the tent … perfume … I don't believe in ghosts," he whispered, still agitated.

Aramis glanced at Porthos who, understanding the look, disappeared into the tent as Aramis prompted Athos to explain further.

Porthos re-emerged and shook his head.

Aramis studied Athos carefully and, from the broken details he was hearing, hazarded a guess.

"The scent reminded you of the woman from the past? The one you loved and who died?"

The answer came in the form of a deep, shuddering breath and a nod.

The marksman sighed. "You must have been dreaming; you could do without such thoughts when you are not strong. Come," and he took Athos' arm, "let's go back into the tent."

But Athos shook off his hand. "How was there such a reminder? I did not imagine it. I smelled it! But she's dead. How can that be?"

II

There was no adequate answer, no explanation so simple that would placate Athos who remained distracted throughout the evening, picking at the food Serge had prepared for the men.

At some point, eager to escape the cloying atmosphere of the feast within the lodge itself, Tréville made his excuses and slipped away. He had been truthful when he said he was going to check with those on duty and to see that his men were settled. He also needed to have a brief meeting with the Captain of the Red Guard. Damn it! Why could he never remember the man's name? What was it telling him about his attitude towards Richelieu's regiment?

Stopping by the _Inseparables' _tent was last on his list. They were seated around a small campfire in front of it when he approached, and he immediately sensed the tension within the group. After a few strained pleasantries, he let Aramis lead him away.

"What's happened?" he asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

Aramis sighed and gave a brief account of what had happened when they returned to Athos.

"Did you see any signs of a woman around the camp?" Tréville wanted to know. "Did you ask questions of any of the men in the camp?"

"Of course not. He'd been in a deep sleep; I made sure of that. He was dreaming or having a nightmare, nothing more."

But Tréville did not seem convinced.

"You surely don't believe that there really was a woman in his tent?" Aramis asked incredulously, but the Captain did not answer. The younger man's eyes widened in shock as realisation dawned. "You said there might be another attack on Athos. Is this woman possibly in the employment of the man who recognised him as a Musketeer and spy? She must have been tasked with trying to kill him because she could move around, pretending to be a camp follower." His shock turned to horror and guilt at what might have been. "And I gave him something to make him sleep. He was alone and unable to defend himself! I could have got him killed!"

"You were not to know, and it didn't happen, thank God!"

"Perhaps his waking frightened off whoever it was. Supposing he had not stirred!"

"You must not think of it this way, but we cannot let this happen again." Tréville was filled with self-recrimination and lecturing himself rather than the Musketeer who stood beside him.

Now Aramis was angry. "Do you know who recognised him? Who is this man?"

But Tréville, fighting to suppress his own burgeoning fury and suspicions, would not answer. "I have to see the Cardinal. Do not leave Athos alone!"

III

"It is late, and I was on the point of retiring, Tréville." Richelieu sounded bored. He was seated in a lavishly tapestried chair and sipping at a glass of deep red wine. "What is it that is so important that it cannot wait until the morning?"

"She's here, isn't she?" the Captain demanded. "Your spy, assassin or whatever it is you call her!"

Richelieu frowned, his face darkening. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do!" Tréville spat out. "I have no proof, but you would have made sure of that. I don't know what the reason is behind all this but call her off, Richelieu. Tell her to stay away from my lieutenant."

He turned abruptly on his heels and headed to the door. Opening it with a little more force than he intended, he looked back at the glowering Cardinal.

"If anything happens to Athos, I will hold you personally responsible."

IV

It was later, much later, when the camp grew quiet and men settled for the night. Aramis, on the cot opposite Athos, reached to extinguish the tallow candle on the box between them and spied the open bottle of medication. His brow furrowed for he never left a bottle open to allow its contents to spoil and he could see by the flickering candle flame that this was far from empty. In fact, he had deliberately taken up a new one from supplies to have at hand for Athos. Had the injured man woken in pain and swallowed some more? It was highly unlikely.

Then snippets of Athos' garbled, broken sentences from earlier came to mind. Aramis had spent time trying to extract a coherent story from Athos, but he had been too disturbed. Now, though, Aramis recalled the disjointed comment about the medicine bottle, proof enough for Athos' disordered mind that someone had entered the tent.

Aramis' blood ran cold. He had tried to calm Athos, excusing the wild ramblings as the aftermath of a vivid nightmare or the remains of his drug-induced state, although Aramis had never known the sedative to have this effect on anyone before.

Had someone been in the tent during their absence? If so, the purpose could not have been a good one and Tréville seemed to have taken Athos' claims seriously. What was going on here? What did he and his brothers not know? What was Tréville – or Athos- not telling them?

Unsheathing his dagger from where he had placed it by the cot, he slipped it under his pillow, lay down on his side facing his brother and resolved to watch him through the night.

His intentions were well-meant, but his weary body harboured other ideas and it was not long before his eyes closed too.


	74. Chapter 74

_**Dear all, thank you so much for reading and reviewing the last chapter. It continued being a strange and worrying week with global events unfolding as they are and I couldn't settle to writing anything but today has been much better.**_

_**I sincerely hope that you and your loved ones stay well and safe at this time. I know some of you, like my sister (a Sister), work in hospitals and I thank you all for your commitment and hard work**_.

CHAPTER 74

Tréville stood waiting by his horse, temper controlled as he pulled on his gloves. The morning had started well with food to break the fast and then muster, followed by ensuring that the first duty changes of the day went smoothly.

He had met briefly with the Captain of the Red Guard. Planque – Alain Planque. That was the man's name and Tréville had a feeling after their meeting that he would never have a problem remembering the man's name again. He was stiff, unyielding and clearly reluctant with regards to the Musketeer Captain's authority over him, acceding to him only because Richelieu had ordered it. The two officers did not like or trust each other; that much was clear and Tréville hoped that the man and the soldiers serving under him would not prove to be a problem. There was already the concern that the Cardinal's female spy had managed to avoid those on guard around the camp's perimeter to gain access to Athos, for Tréville firmly believed what the Musketeer had been saying about a presence in his tent. Too much was happening at the moment to presume that it was a mere coincidence, a bad dream, the effect of medicine or a flight of fancy.

As if on cue, Athos materialised at his side. His brothers were close by, leading their horses for they were to accompany the hunt. There had already been an argument between them all so far this morning when Athos refused to have one of them remaining at the camp with him.

"I would not be responsible for you being down a valuable man on the hunt," Athos insisted, his expression resolute.

"And I have given the instruction that you are not to be left alone," Tréville persisted.

But Athos stood on his own, confronted by his brothers and the Captain who had arranged themselves in a united semi-circle against him.

"One of the understandings we reached about my coming to Versailles included not creating any more work for you."

"Well that became irrelevant the moment someone entered your tent."

Porthos and d'Artagnan looked at each other in puzzlement for they both still believed that Athos had been in the throes of a nightmare. Aramis had not shared with them his finding of the open bottle of sleeping draught.

Athos sighed. "I can help Serge with preparing food."

"And how long is that going to keep you occupied?" the Captain demanded. "How long before you start wandering the camp and hunting lodge, checking that those on duty are maintaining alertness, that all security measures within the lodge itself have not been compromised?"

Athos remained silent for he had contemplated doing just that whilst the hunt was in progress.

"I know you well," Tréville added. "I shall give thought to what I would have you do whilst we are away. I shall give you orders before we leave."

Now, Athos was patiently waiting for those orders.

"The Cardinal is not joining us on the hunt today. You will, in my place, review with him what we have done, the reliability of our security measures as the hours pass and the schedule of things later in the day. You are also to act as his secretary and accompany him if he visits the Queen or anyone else. In short, you are to do anything that is required as long as you remain within sight of the Cardinal at all times. It has been arranged."

Athos' eyes widened but he said nothing.

Porthos snorted, amused. "That sounds like a fun day. Glad I'm going on the hunt."

"You will report to me on my return and tell me everything that has transpired during the day with the Cardinal, every document you've seen and the content of every conversation you have with the man. Understood?"

"Understood," Athos answered. One eyebrow lifted. "I presume you do not expect me to accompany him to the water closet or vice versa."

Tréville gave a wry grin. "I might permit you that privacy as long as neither of you takes too much time. That might be considered suspicious." He adjusted his horse's reins in his hands and grabbed the saddle, preparing to mount.

Tréville was congratulating himself for 'stopping two gaps with one bush.' He had made it clear to Richelieu that he suspected him and his agent in some way for incriminating Athos in a false charge. He had also been explicit in what would happen if Athos were to suffer anything else. Richelieu would never take direct action against Athos on his own and now it was his responsibility to protect the Musketeer from his agent, or there would be consequences.

The arrangement kept Athos under control and occupied in using his mind and skills and also gave Tréville some means to monitor the Cardinal through this time. He did not anticipate that it would be easy to persuade the Cardinal to take Athos into his service for the day, and perhaps longer, but Tréville had chosen his moment - when he and Richelieu had a brief, private audience with the King as Louis was eating his first meal of the day.

"My Lieutenant has disregarded medical advice to be here in the King's service at this time of threat. We already know that there is no limit to his loyalty to Your Majesty, but he is still recovering from the terrible injuries he sustained whilst on the mission to garner vital information. It is all thanks to him that we learned as much as we did regarding the plot. He cannot ride to the hunt, but he has keen strategic abilities. As he is my second-in-command, I suggest that he act in my stead, continuing to work with the Cardinal on ensuring that there are no flaws in our arrangements to keep Your Majesties safe."

The King had deemed it a wonderful solution. Richelieu had blustered indignantly for a while but had been overruled by Louis. The Cardinal had then glared at Tréville with intense fury and the Captain had struggled to keep a straight face even when he was feeling so smug.

He had even steeled himself to face more opposition from Athos, but it had not happened. He had a momentary stab of uneasiness when he thought that it might have been a little too easy but perhaps Athos knew when he was beaten by reason.

Athos may even have seen benefits in the arrangement as well.

"In short," he said carefully, deliberately, echoing the Captain's words, "you wish me to spy upon the Cardinal."

Tréville was in his saddle before he looked down upon the Musketeer and thought before he responded. He had to be very particular in the way he phrased himself for Athos could twist things in his favour.

"I would not go as far as to openly use that vocabulary but, as long as you stay with Richelieu, I give you leave to interpret my order in any other way you please."

_**A/N**_

_**I was looking at the origin of 'to kill two birds with one stone.' Ovid used the idea of achieving two objectives with a single effort nearly two thousand years ago, but the first known citing of our familiar expression was Thomas Hobbes in a work on liberty in 1656, which is a bit too late for this story.**_

_**However, related phrases were to be found in both English and French literature in the 16**__**th**__** century and in John Heywood's 1546 collection of proverbs, he includes the one that I have use above about gaps and bushes. Fascinating!**_


	75. Chapter 75

_**Good morning. **_

_**Thank you for reading and for comments on the last chapter. Had a good writing 'spurt' over the weekend so I have a few chapters in hand again at last - like I had when I started posting this story . That extended adventure to the US seems so long ago now, and so much has happened in the world. No good dwelling on the fact that recommended isolation for the vulnerable here is twelve weeks - the same as that trip! Don't think they compare somehow! :)**_

_**Anyway, the tensions are mounting all over at Versailles and the situation is accelerating all the time! (Can I keep up with it?)**_

CHAPTER 75

I

"Tréville has no proof," Milady insisted. "There is nothing to incriminate either you or me. He's nothing more than hot air."

"Air that is currently scorching us," Richelieu hissed at her. He rearranged papers on the desk in the room that he had appropriated as his office within the lodge. He deliberately took some documents, put them in a drawer and locked it, pocketing the key. He could have done without having to act as nursemaid to an injured soldier who was worryingly astute. Richelieu knew exactly what game Tréville was playing. Did the officer really think he was a fool? "He has some exceedingly strong suspicions that cannot be ignored."

"They are only suspicions and there is nothing that he can substantiate …"

Her words were cut off and her eyes widened in uncharacteristic fear as Richelieu's arm snaked out, the fingers of his right hand tightening at her throat as he dragged her towards him, their faces inches apart and his spittle specking her cheek.

"He is suspicious because he has long known of the existence of a mysterious woman behind the attack on his Musketeers during that debacle over the Treaty with Spain. He wants that woman. He also seeks the person responsible for the false charges brought against his lieutenant. He knows of your existence and he saw you leaving my office in Paris."

"But I eluded him," she gasped, holding as still as she could in the Cardinal's grasp. She did not think that he would actually throttle her – she was still useful to him- but the constriction of her throat assailed her with the nightmarish memories of a rope around her neck.

"Your obsession with the Musketeer Athos is going to bring about your downfall if you are not careful. That is what brought you here, isn't it? Don't even bother lying to me or I will crush your throat right now. I stopped you from returning to Troyes to take advantage of his presence at the meeting. I did not want you exacting whatever petty revenge it is that you seek, and now you are angry because he survived the attack on him by other parties. So you come here, pretending your loyalty to me and your usefulness in the situation when in reality you want to finish the job that has so far ended in failure. Whatever your reason is for wanting him dead, you are to do nothing whilst we are in Versailles. Do I make myself clear? You make one move against him here and it will not only be the last thing you do whilst in my employment, I will ensure that it is the last thing you do ever!"

He pushed her away from him, his dark eyes wild with barely contained fury. She staggered, drawing in deep, ragged breaths, her hand rubbing protectively at her throat.

"You had better leave. Now! Tréville has arranged it that the object of your attention is to work with and for me for the duration of the day. I suspect that it would not be a good idea for him to find you here. I am about to wave His Majesty off on his hunting trip and, when I return, you must be gone. You have told me where you are staying _if _I have need of you."

The emphasis was on the word 'if'.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Milady troubled. Did the Cardinal have any idea of the past she shared with Athos? She dismissed the notion. There was no way that he could have discovered their link; she went by a totally different name. She thought she had been so careful in what she said and the manner in which she said it whenever it related to Athos. There had been the two plots that involved him, both of which were designed to end in his demise: the incident with the Spanish Treaty and the attempt to implicate him in a series of serious crimes in Paris that so nearly had him executed and brought dishonour to his regiment.

But then the Cardinal had an extensive and intricately structured spy network and she was only a small part of it. He could have asked pertinent questions and others had found enough of the answers. She would have to be careful from here on in; the powerful man had made known his displeasure in her and her need for his employment and the generous largesse with which he rewarded her currently superseded her desire for revenge.

No matter. She knew where she could find Athos in Paris and, should he have the good fortune to survive what was about to erupt at Versailles, there would be no escaping her there.

II

After hearing the Captain's orders for Athos, three of the _Inseparables _ rode with the column over the short distance separating the camp from the hunting lodge, leaving their brother to trail behind on foot for his day with the Cardinal.

His Majesty, of course, would be the last to make an appearance so, as the soldiers divided and took up their predetermined positions around the patiently waiting nobles and beaters, Porthos and d'Artagnan headed to the stables to check on the King's favourite horse that was to be used on the hunt. Strict security measures had been put in place around the animal and it was their duty to ensure that no unauthorised personnel had gained access to the building.

Now, the pair led a small procession out from the stables, followed by the head groom leading Louis' mount. They walked over to where Tréville and Aramis awaited them, the latter holding the reins to their horses.

They swung with ease into their saddles.

"All ready?" Tréville asked.

Porthos nodded. "I checked the King's equipment carefully; went over it a couple o' times for any cut or loose stitchin', damaged buckles or any mysterious burs that'd upset the animal."

"And I examined the King's horse," d'Artagnan added. "I spoke with Boulais and Vallin who had been guarding it all night. They reported that all had been quiet, but I still checked it. There was nothing wrong with it or its shoes. Anyway, I was there when it was given its morning feed so I saw that it came from the same stock supply as all the other horses in that section of the stable. Unless there is a mass, simultaneous collapse of about a dozen horses from that block, all is well."

"So far so good then," Tréville muttered. He looked in the direction of the main entrance to the lodge. No sign of the King yet. If he did not appear soon, the proposed day's hunt would become nothing more than the afternoon's hunt. Low movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

Athos had arrived and stood beside the Captain's magnificent stallion, a hand absent-mindedly stroking the animal's sleek neck. His eyes were fixed on the group of nobles.

Tréville also looked over at them, trying to gauge who or what held Athos' attention.

There was Gaston in the company of a tall, sandy-haired nobleman.

The Captain did not need to ask. The mixed expression of disbelief and horror on the face of the unfamiliar noble as he stared directly at Athos said it all.

L'Hernault - and now he knew that Athos still lived.


	76. Chapter 76

_**Morning, all,**_

_**It's all happening at Versailles now! **_

CHAPTER 76

I

Tréville leaned forward in the saddle, keeping his voice low.

"That's him, isn't it? L'Hernault. The one with Gaston."

Athos nodded mutely, tearing his eyes away from the man who so desperately wanted him dead.

"He has a horse so he must be intending to ride with us. You will be safe for now back here with the Cardinal, but I urge you to maintain a careful watch," Tréville pressed. "The others and I will monitor him throughout the day."

Alarm flickered across Athos' face. "Don't tell them, please, about ..."

"They believe," Tréville interrupted, "that there is a noble who recognised you from court as a Musketeer who had infiltrated the meeting, not as the Comte de la Fère. I am not about to correct that presumption, but they will know that he is the man behind the attack upon you. You are sure that it was him, aren't you?"

Athos nodded again, his green eyes troubled. "I seem to remember more of the attack with each passing day."

"You never said."

"It would have achieved nothing, but my recollections are clarifying all the time. Perhaps it would have been better if they had not."

Tréville studied his lieutenant. "And that evidence is?"

"They named him." Athos sighed. "When I had shot one of the attackers, I prepared to fight the other two. As they bore down on me, they sought to intimidate me, to distract me by shouting obscenities and gloating over their victory before we had even engaged. One of them said it was going to be easy and L'Hernault would be so pleased that the annoyance had been dispatched. They anticipated being rewarded handsomely."

Tréville straightened. "All the more reason for your brothers and me to maintain surveillance where he is concerned. They need to be aware of his identity."

"Sorry to interrupt, Captain, Athos." This from Aramis. "Musketeer incoming. Riding at speed." From the back of his horse, he pointed in the direction of the new arrival.

For once, Tréville needed the King to be delayed a little longer. The rider heading towards them had been tasked with two others to keep watch along the northern approach for any nobles who might be joining with Gaston's forces. This could only herald bad news.

"Report," Tréville demanded, a little more sharply than he intended for Chenery had ridden hard judging by his lathered horse.

As the Musketeer caught his breath, the Captain considered the appropriateness of the man's name. There was an old French word - 'chesne'- meaning oak tree and Chenery was just like that, a symbolic oak at the heart of the regiment. Tall and solid in build, Chenery might appear a little slow in reacting to things – just as the tree grew slowly – but he was carefully assimilating anything he was told, garnering knowledge. As a soldier, he was a tower of strength, reliable and resistant in any fight and his deep, measured voice could often be heard dispensing words of wisdom that lifted morale.

"Sorry, Captain," Chenery began. "Riders, a large number, heading west."

"How many?"

"We tried to do a bit of a count but at a rough guess, a hundred, maybe more."

"They were not coming directly to Versailles?"

"No, Sir, not most of them. They stayed on a route that would take them north of here."

Joining with Gaston's men then.

"You said not most of them?"

"No, Captain. It was when a small group of them – six or seven - broke away and started heading south that we thought they were coming here to the lodge, so I rode hard to get here first and warn you."

"You did well," Tréville praised him. "What of your comrades?"

"Bain and Fortin have remained out there, in case this group is the first of others."

The Captain nodded his approval. "Athos, your thoughts?"

"Possibly a scouting party. They have no reason to suspect that we would have men positioned on guard that far out for an ordinary hunting trip. On the other hand, it might be a group of the nobles on their way here to present their petition to the King."

"That's what I was thinking."

A ripple of applause broke out to greet the King who had just emerged from the lodge, closely followed by the Queen, some of her attendants and Richelieu. Louis waved airily at the gathered party.

"Come, come, come," he said jovially, heading for his horse and the mounting block carried out by one of the stable boys but surreptitiously put in the correct place by the groom. "We can't stand around here all day. We have some hunting to do."

No-one dared correct him by saying that he was the one responsible for delaying their sport, so they laughed politely, as if in response to some witticism.

Once seated in his saddle, Louis glanced at his Queen.

"We will see you for lunch, my love," he called to her as he spurred his horse into motion.

"Athos, I'll leave it to you to inform Richelieu of this news," Tréville said hastily. "Review our security measures for the lodge and camp and increase the size of the escort for the Queen's party as they join us for the picnic."

"Understood," Athos acknowledged, standing back as the horses moved past him and the hunting party headed towards the forest.

II

"Aramis!" Tréville called over his shoulder. He waited as Aramis urged his horse forward to catch up and fall into place beside him and directly behind the King.

"Captain?"

"Don't look round but there is a nobleman in Gaston's company; tall and sandy haired. He's dressed in dark green today and riding a black mount, probably a Dutch breed. His name's L'Hernault."

Aramis listened quietly to the measured delivery. "And he's the one who ordered the attack on Athos?"

Tréville nodded.

"And he knows now that he failed? That Athos is still alive?"

"Exactly." Tréville's eyes flickered from the King's back to the surrounding countryside, ever vigilant.

"And you expect another attempt?" Aramis sounded as if he were discussing the mundane, rather than the perpetrator of a crime against his brother.

"I do, which is why you, Porthos and d'Artagnan will be alert to his every move, and not just during this hunt. That's an order."

"Yes, Captain."

Tréville turned his head, his piercing ice-blue eyes fixed upon Aramis. "And under no circumstances are the three of you to take matters into your own hands. Do you hear me? You have your brother's back and you only act against L'Hernault if he makes a move upon Athos."


	77. Chapter 77

_**Greetings, all.**_

_**Thank you for reading and commenting on yesterday's chapter. Events are really beginning to kick off now and I am going to try hard to post a chapter a day to maintain the tension for you. Am busy trying to stay a few chapters ahead! **_

CHAPTER 77

I

Athos gave Richelieu the news of the large group riding towards Gaston's men and then informed him that a smaller party of insurgents might have broken away to come directly to the hunting lodge, their motives unclear as yet.

Richelieu pursed his lips and considered what he had heard. He stared hard at Athos.

"Captain Tréville keeps telling me about your strategic and leadership skills. There must have been some reason why he deemed you satisfactory material to be his lieutenant, so you'd better prove yourself by going through our current arrangements and making any necessary revisions."

Athos schooled his features, not reacting to the goading and denying Richelieu the pleasure of seeing even the merest flicker in a facial muscle. He would certainly not lower himself to remind the Cardinal of just what he had done on the Îsle de Ré during the 1627 siege of La Rochelle* and the more recent incident concerning the Treaty with the Spanish** or all the occasions in between when he had demonstrated his abilities in the service of the King.

So they had reached an unspoken truce. Athos reviewed the arrangements and lists of men, Musketeers and Red Guard, and revised the security details, increasing the number and hours of those on duty.

"I will summon Captain Planque and you can instruct him as to the altered arrangements," Richelieu declared.

Athos' heart sank. Why could Richelieu not tell the man himself? When, in the early stages of his recovery, Tréville had sat with him and updated him on events to provide some diversion, the Captain had made a veiled comment about Planque's surly nature. If he resented the Musketeer Captain being given seniority over him on this mission, how would he respond to new instructions delivered by a mere lieutenant?

He was right to be concerned.

He leaped to his feet in deference to the man's rank as Planque strode into the room.

"You wanted to see me, Your Eminence." He totally ignored the man standing to attention at a table to the side of the room.

Richelieu gestured to Athos with a wave of the quill pen he was holding

"Musketeer Athos has some new orders for you." The Cardinal resumed writing his letter.

Planque turned to face Athos, seeing him for the first time.

"And who are you to be giving me orders?"

Athos cleared his throat. "I am Captain Tréville's second-in-command. Whilst he accompanies the hunt, I have been instructed to work with His Eminence and review the security arrangements. We have had notice that a party of at least one hundred men are heading in the direction of Gaston's camp." He suddenly broke off, unsure as to how much Planque knew, and turned to Richelieu. "I presume, Your Eminence, that now we are in the field, Captain Planque has been fully apprised of what is happening?"

"Yes, Tréville fully briefed the Captain yesterday."

"Good," Athos resumed his report. "We also know that …"

"Excuse me," Planque interrupted, "but am I given to understand that this … ," and he pointed derisively in Athos' direction, "this underling has been privy to important information before I was?"

Richelieu slowly laid down his pen and fixed Planque with such a dangerous glare that Athos was convinced the man shrank visibly before him. When he spoke, his voice dripped with sarcasm.

"This 'underling', as you so delicately put it, is deserving of your respect, Captain Planque."

Athos' eyes widened. Was he hearing Richelieu correctly? Was the Cardinal actually defending and even praising him?

"He infiltrated the plotters at great risk to his own life and brought us back vital information, without which this enterprise could not have proceeded as it has thus far. He is still recovering from serious injury which is why he is here in this office rather than accompanying the hunt and he is useful to me, not that I should have to offer any explanation to you. You will heed his words well."

Planque's face burned red and Athos could not be sure if it was from gross humiliation, intense anger or a combination of both.

"Proceed," Planque spat out.

So Athos informed him of the small group destined to arrive at Versailles at any time and handed him a sheet of fresh instructions. He did not want to offend the man further by going through the minutiae.

"You will see from those details that we are further increasing the number on guard around the perimeter of the lodge and the camps," Athos said as Planque perused the instructions.

"This will put a strain on the men, longer duties, less time to relax and restore their energy."

"Relax!" Richelieu was vitriolic. "These men are not here for their health, man! They are here to ensure that their King is the one who remains healthy and alive, or had you forgotten that?"

"Certainly not, Your Eminence." Planque was flustered. "But there are many others who support the King who are close by. Can they not be prevailed upon to add to our security?"

Athos had begun to feel sorry for the man as he faced Richelieu's ire – until his last comment. All sympathy drained away in an instant. The man was an idiot!

He took a deep breath before launching into an explanation of what, to him, was obvious. "We are endeavouring not to reveal our hand at this juncture," Athos said pointedly. "The rebels are unaware that we know of their plot, that they have moved forces into the area. Some of those dissenters are here in the King's party and they have probably noticed the increased security, which would be enough to arouse suspicion, but not to the extent that they would then suppose that we have our own army of supporters close by. We want it to stay that way for a long as possible."

Athos was politeness itself, speaking without condescension, malice or any trace of sarcasm. There were plenty of times when he had employed all three and more but, on this occasion, he had been practical, to the point. Something in his manner, though, riled Planque even more or perhaps it was just that, having received what he perceived as an unfair reprimand from the Cardinal before a subordinate, Planque felt justified in pulling rank and lashing out, albeit verbally, to that same subordinate.

Dismissed abruptly by the Cardinal to go and implement the new measures, Planque turned on his heel to leave but altered direction to approach Athos.

"Stay out of my way, Musketeer," he sneered. "You may have found favour with the Cardinal but not with me. You have made a fool of me and I will not stand for it. You'd better make sure our paths don't cross again."

And he stormed from the room.

Athos sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was tangled – just like his life.

How, when he was following orders and just doing his job, had he managed to make yet another enemy?

_**A/N**_

_*** As told in 'Retribution'**_

_**** as told in the (as yet) unfinished 'Repercussions' (I will be going back to it - promise!)**_


	78. Chapter 78

_**Greetings. Thank you for reading and commenting; I love hearing from you as I'm home alone! Wild expedition to the supermarket scheduled for tomorrow - 2nd time out in 2-5 weeks! So I'm enjoying the escapism that this site affords me and all your company! I dare say there are many of us in the same boat but my thoughts are with those of you who are in the medical profession, caring for others in some way or have loved ones involved. 'Thank you' is not enough for what you are doing. Stay safe!**_

_**I would say 'now onto lighter things' but there's little that is 'light' as this story continues to unfold. Enjoy! Until tomorrow ...**_

CHAPTER 78

I

Athos was surprised at how quickly the morning passed. He wrote a message for the Musketeer camp for someone to wait upon him to receive the orders designated to the men who were still around the lodge.

He was even more pleasantly surprised when, minutes later, Claude knocked at the door and walked in.

"My missive could not have reached the camp in that short time," Athos observed.

Claude grinned back. "No, I was waitin' down the corridor. Captain had me on duty there in case you needed someone to run messages for you."

Athos' eyes narrowed with scepticism. "It is a wonder that he did not share your proposed usefulness with me."

Claude shrugged. "I suppose 'e forgot."

The younger man was not about to get into a lengthy discussion on the matter, but he knew the real reason. Because he had refused to have one of his brothers stay with him, Claude had been tasked with his protection and had been outside all the time. Athos did not know whether to be touched or angered by the concern for his well-being. Today was the best he had felt since the attack; he was rested, definitely stronger and the pain, as long as he did not move suddenly, had subsided to a dull ache. He had not required medication although Aramis had insisted that he keep a small bottle of pain draught about his person and he had willingly complied to maintain the peace.

"Anyway, I have additional instructions about duties for the men here," and he handed over another sheet of paper that he had carefully prepared.

"I always enjoy gettin' written instructions from you," Claude quipped.

Athos raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Because they're a darn sight easier to read than the Captain's scrawl," Claude added. "I'll get this over to the camp and come straight back."

"Stay there and eat," Athos said. He wondered what the Cardinal was expecting him to do about food, especially as he had to admit to feeling hungry – again. What was happening to him these days that he was thinking more regularly about meals and eating? Aramis would probably have some answer about recovery, using more energy, building up his physical strength and such like.

When Claude shifted uncomfortably, he knew that he had guessed correctly as to the reason for being posted so close. He had to reassure the older man somehow.

"I have much to keep me occupied here so I won't have the opportunity to leave this room. Perhaps, when you return, you could bring me some bread and cheese from Serge."

Claude's smile broadened. "I'll be off then. Sooner I go, the sooner I can get back."

Silence filled the room after he had gone, only to be broken some minutes later by the Cardinal.

"Is that man always so infernally cheerful?"

Athos huffed, amused by the question. "For as long as I have known him, he reserves his wrath for the enemy; his good nature and words of wisdom are kept for his Captain and his comrades."

Richelieu looked up.

"He has them? Words of wisdom, I mean? And for Tréville? "

Athos hesitated, wondering if the Cardinal was manoeuvring the conversation to be critical or sarcastic, but when Athos met the man's steady gaze, he could see that he was intrigued.

"The Captain, Claude and Serge, our old cook, go back a long way and have seen many campaigns together. I think that between them, Serge and Claude looked out for the Captain well before he started climbing the ranks. They still do. I occasionally see one of other of them having quiet words with him and Serge is on a personal mission to make sure that the Captain takes regular meals. Otherwise I think he would forget sometimes."

He frowned as it occurred to him how alike he and Tréville were in that respect. Porthos loved his food but he had spent his early years struggling to provide for himself and survive in the Court of Miracles when there was little sustenance to be had. Aramis regarded food as a language of love and both he and d'Artagnan used mealtimes to laugh, regale the four with stories and to enjoy the time they shared, whilst he … How did he view food?

As a young vicomte and then comte, there had never been a shortage of food. The table was always full and so he never knew deprivation in those days. Food also had connotations in his mind. Perhaps that was why he now regarded it as an annoyance, an unwanted necessity, for the memories – good and bad - often flooded back depending upon the meal. Fortunately, the fare he ate now was far simpler than that served at Pinon but there were still some dishes that provoked a recollection of happy, family times; of intimate meals when he was so completely and hopelessly in love. Since then he had known hunger many times as a soldier, not least when besieged on the island of Ré, but there had also been those times when he had preferred to swallow alcohol in lieu of a nourishing meal.

The Cardinal cleared his throat, bringing him back to the present.

"Your Captain is indeed a fortunate man to have so many loyal to him. I wonder," and Richelieu abruptly changed the subject, as if realising that he had said too much, "if you have finished any pressing business, whether you would mind copying these letters I have prepared? There is also a list of those to be in receipt of them." It was couched in the manner of a polite request rather than a command, serving to confuse Athos even more.

"Nothing remains that cannot wait," and Athos crossed the room to take the letters held in the Cardinal's outstretched hand.

Resuming his seat, he began copying the first letter, but he lacked concentration, his mind repeatedly flitting to the First Minister's comment.

Did the Cardinal really envy the loyalty and respect that the Musketeers unquestioningly had for their Captain? Athos found it hard to believe that the Red Guard held the Cardinal in similar esteem; his leadership style was cold, removed and even threatening. He commanded through fear. But, somehow, Athos felt some sympathy for the man who was so isolated in his position and who was so unbending in his service to France that no-one could get close to him. Louis might have a strange fondness for Richelieu because he had such a dependency upon his adviser, but it was hardly borne of friendship.

The Cardinal certainly had his mistresses; not for him was there a vow of chastity, but the women merely satisfied his fleshly desires. He could hardly parade them openly in public. Even Adele, who divided her time and her bed between the Cardinal and Aramis, had finally disappeared to Richelieu's country estate to be secreted there for those rare occasions when the powerful man decided to pay her some attention.

A sudden chill ran down Athos' back and he looked up sharply at the Cardinal's bowed, grey head, engrossed as he was in reading a document. Had Richelieu discovered that Adele had another lover, a Musketeer? Was that why she had been removed to the country out of temptation's way? Athos did not think the Cardinal would willingly share her with another man, especially if Aramis' tales were to be believed: that Adele loved him more than the First Minister, tolerating the latter only for the lifestyle the relationship afforded her.

But was Adele really in the country? Athos had to trust that she was for the alternative was unthinkable. For a man of the church, Richelieu was capable of intense cruelty. It was bad enough that he directed his propensity for ruthlessness towards men, but the prospect of women being in receipt of his callousness beggared belief.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter!" Richelieu barked.

A servant nervously entered. "There are some men just arrived, Your Eminence."

"Well? Who are they? Have they said what they want?" The Cardinal's irritation at the interruption was clear.

"One of them, the Vicomte Menier, says he's seeking an audience with His Majesty."

"Tell him to wait. I shall receive him shortly."

Richelieu and Athos exchanged glances.

Menier, the leader of the rebel faction, had arrived in person.

And so it began!


	79. Chapter 79

_**Many thanks to all the readers and to those of you leaving comments. Apologies for any errors/typos that might have crept through. Also, one of the characters has a limited vocabulary and repeatedly swears so I hope no-one is offended!**_

_**More trouble on the horizon!**_

CHAPTER 79

I

Athos looked around him wildly.

"Is there another way out of here? I can hardly walk out of the door if Menier is waiting somewhere beyond it. Where does that lead?" and he pointed towards a narrow door in the corner of the room that he had not noticed before. He hoped that it was not a cupboard.

"To the next room. Are you not staying to hear what he has to say for himself?"

"Not if you want to keep our knowledge of their plot concealed for as long as possible. He will remember me from the meeting."

"You are right of course," Richelieu agreed. "Wait in there with the door ajar and mark our conversation."

Nodding, Athos rapidly gathered together papers, maps and diagrams from the table-top and straightened the quill pens and ink bottle which he had been using. There must be no sign that someone else having been in the room. With all the documents tucked under his arm – for Menier must not see anything that might alert him – and snatching up his hat, Athos disappeared through the door into the adjoining room.

Richelieu waited until the door had almost closed behind the Musketeer and then went rang a small handbell that sat on the corner of his desk. The servant immediately appeared.

"Show Menier in. I will receive him now," the Cardinal ordered.

II

"Bloody insult, that's what it is!"

There was a loud murmur of assent from the group of Red Guard, some fifteen in number.

"We're the poor relations in all this; that's what we are. If I'd wanted to be a bloody Musketeer, I'd 've joined 'em but I chose to be a Red Guard an' I'm proud of it."

Louder support this time.

"So what I want to know is this. What makes that bloody Tréville so all-fired important that 'e's givin' _our _Captain orders an' passin' 'em on to us? Look at the jobs they're givin' to us an' compare 'em with the ones the Musketeers are doin'. Why aren't any of us huntin' with the King? I'll tell you why! We're not thought bloody good enough, that's what."

There were angry jeers at the perceived injustice.

"Look at our camp! We drew the short straw here. The bloody Musketeers 've got the better spot for themselves!"

It was not true, of course, because Tréville and Athos had deliberated long and hard over the positioning of the two camps. There needed to be clear delineation between the regiments because of their history of disagreements and to facilitate the clear orders that had been given to stay away from each other. Positioned as they were in a long arc behind the hunting lodge, they did not mar the King's view of the countryside but made a reassuring barrier between the lodge and the rebels gathering to the north-west. Although a vast open space suitable for an encampment, it was not entirely flat and the Captain, anticipating grumbles from the Red Guard, had allocated them the more level terrain to the south west. They were also closer to the stream that was the natural water supply for all the men.

"Then they stick their bloody cook next to us, tauntin' us with the smell. D'you see 'em all linin' up last night? They're so bloody precious they don't even cook their own food. 'E should be cookin' for us too. If we're all 'ere for the same reason, we ought to be treated the same." The tirade continued.

Serge's tent, supplies and cooking area were set up in an open space between the two camps. If, heaven forbid, there were to be a fire, the makeshift kitchen was the most likely place for it to start. It would spread quickly through the tents if too close to them, hence its current position. It could have been sited on the northern side of the Musketeer camp but that would have put Serge too far away from the stream and, consequently, a great inconvenience. His tent was erected so that he was at right angles to the Musketeers, facing them with the Red Guard behind him. It was Athos who had thought of that arrangement so that Serge was masked by his tent and supply carts so that the Cardinal's men could not see him working, nor would the Musketeer queue for their meals too close to the other regiment to minimise the opportunity for goading from either side.

Unfortunately, what Tréville and Athos had not made allowances for was the smell of the food as it cooked. It could not be helped and neither had seen it as a potential source of trouble.

But Grenouille, Planque's second-in-command, was so irate and so determined to find fault with everything that he was beyond all reason. The more he bellowed his grievances to his willing audience, the more he believed himself, and the greater his outrage became, the more his listeners agreed with and encouraged him.

"Bet they've got more food than us," a different voice sounded now.

"An' better food at that!" Another joined the mix.

"Maybe we'd better take a look!" Grenouille shouted.

"An' 'elp ourselves!"

An outburst of raucous laughter followed, but there was no mirth in it.

"Don't like the sound o' this," Serge muttered. He was standing at the improvised preparation table where he was packing up bread and cheese to be taken to Athos. He could not be seen by the Red Guard, but the raised, angry voices drifted towards him, aided by the wind direction.

"Neither do I," Claude agreed. "I'll warn some of the boys to be on alert just in case the Red Guard try anythin'."

"Did you get a look at the ringleader?" Serge asked.

Claude had crept around behind the tent and had crouched by the carts, briefly watching as events unfolded in the next camp.

"Yeah, ugly beggar with eyes that stick out. Man mountain, he is; probably bigger than Porthos. I'll tell Athos what's goin' on when I take 'im this," and he picked up the small sack of food for the Lieutenant.

Left alone, Serge collected together all of his knives and laid them in a line on the table in front of him. Licking his thumb, he tested the edge of one broad blade and nodded his approval. Then he disappeared into his tent and emerged moments later carrying an old musket, his faithful Cleopatra, that had been with him on every campaign. He lovingly maintained her every day, as was expected of every Musketeer in the regiment, but he could not recall the last time he had fired her in anger.

He prayed that was not about to change.


	80. Chapter 80

_**Good afternoon, all. It's a beautiful day; these strange times cannot detract from that.**_

_**Thank you for reading and reviewing. So what is going on at the hunt?**_

CHAPTER 80

I

"Weren't you ever told it's rude to stare?" Porthos said lightly as he opened up a sack and shared out the bread and hard cheese it contained into three portions.

"What?" Aramis suddenly realised he was being spoken to but had no idea what had been said.

"You've been distracted since we started the hunt," d'Artagnan commented, tearing open a chunk of bread. "Are you even with us now? We're supposed to be relaxing for a little while and eating."

They were in the first group of musketeers to have a rest period after the morning's hunt. The men had been divided into four teams, three of them on duty throughout the King's picnic lunch. The resting team had fifteen minutes to water and feed their horses and swallow some food themselves. The unavoidable mix of Musketeers and Red Guard who comprised the Queen's escort were now ranged in the widely protective circle around the monarch and his guests, but the extensive security measures did not end there.

Louis had decreed one hour for the lavish picnic lunch, but the Musketeers knew it was going to take considerably longer than that if everything arrayed on the laden tables was to be sampled.

Some half a dozen Musketeers stood discreetly at intervals behind the tables, eyes fixed upon the servants to ensure that nothing detrimental could be added to the food. Four others remained at the cart that had brought the feast to ensure that no intruders could do something similar. Another group of the King's regiment had been on watch back at the lodge during the preparation and cooking of the food, insisting that the final check be made before all was packed to be transported.

The King's head cook had been given the responsibility of tasting every dish prior to it leaving his kitchen. He had done so diligently but sweat beaded his brow and it was not clear whether this was from the heat of the vast room with its multiple ovens or from fear that one of his staff was not as loyal as he initially believed. Nothing was left to chance and Richelieu had employed someone else to specifically be the King's official food taster whilst at Versailles; the pitiful individual concerned was only partially appeased by the role of the head cook back at the lodge.

"Sorry," Aramis attempted a weak smile. "You have my undivided attention."

"Now why don't I believe that?" Porthos frowned.

D'Artagnan provided the answer. "Could it be because Aramis did not even look at us as he said that?"

"You goin' to tear your eyes away from the King's guests an' tell us what's goin' on in that head o' yours?"

Aramis sighed and picked up a piece of cheese; he began chewing on it. "Tréville pointed out the man behind the attack on Athos. Don't make it so obvious," he added hastily as the other two craned their necks to see past him.

"They're so busy stuffin' their faces, they won't notice us lookin'. Besides, they know we're all watchin' their hides now. Which one is 'e?" he glowered.

"You see where Gaston is standing, just beyond the King's pavilion? He's talking to the man, one L'Hernault. Light-haired, wearing green."

"From here, it looks a bit more heated than just talking," d'Artagnan observed quietly.

II

"So what is it now, L'Hernault?" Gaston demanded, his head turned away from the man who was trying to talk to him. Instead, he smiled ingratiatingly at two men walking past at that moment, men who outranked the lowly L'Hernault. Their heads dipped in acknowledgement, but their stern expressions spoke volumes of their continued distrust as far as the Duc was concerned.

"Before we left Paris, I told you of a problem." L'Hernault wrung his hands nervously.

"What of it? You said you had reliable men who would take care of it."

"They should have made contact with me by now, but I have heard nothing."

"And? They are either a little slow in finding their man, or they have done their job and are celebrating in a tavern somewhere."

"No. I think he's killed them."

Only now was L'Hernault rewarded by Gaston's attention.

"Why would you think that?"

L'Hernault could not hide the mounting panic. "He's here."

"Where?" and Gaston's eyes swept the gathered guests.

"Not here on the hunt, but he's at Versailles. He's still alive."

The Duc frowned, trying to identify which of the Kings guests had not joined the hunt that day.

"It's worse," L'Hernault swallowed hard. "He's one of Tréville's men."

"A Musketeer!" Gaston was incredulous. "You said he was a nobleman who attended the meeting under an assumed name."

"And so he was. I know him from the past. He was an aristocrat who mysteriously disappeared a few years ago."

"And who has now turned up in Paris as one of the King's Musketeers!"

"So what was he doing at the meeting?"

"What do you think, you fool!" Gaston hissed, his face darkening. "He was there as a spy!" He glared in Louis' direction. "And my loving brother continues to stand there, pretending that nothing is wrong."

"But the King knew of the plot because you had already warned him!"

"I did not tell him that I had men camped beyond Versailles nor how many there were. _You_ provided that information." His eyes glinted dangerously.

"I was following your instructions. I had to provide some numbers to encourage the nobles to state how many men they would send."

"And your Musketeer heard all of it. He really is a problem, isn't he?"

"But the King can't be taking it seriously otherwise we wouldn't be here, would we? He would have cancelled the trip to Versailles." L'Hernault was becoming more frantic by the minute.

"Of course he is taking it seriously! This is a trap for those who dared to attend the meeting. I thought it was strange when there was an increased protective detail made up of Musketeers and the Cardinal's guard. They do not normally have this many on a hunting trip. They are expecting trouble."

"What are we going to do?" L'Hernault whispered. "Shouldn't we warn the men who have already arrived?"

Gaston studied him carefully … and then he smiled. It was a cruel smile, his expression scheming.

"No, there is time yet. Menier wants to present his petition. Let him and then let us see how my dear brother reacts. Fortunately, I have informed him of the plot, but I will have to confess to bringing armed men across France and convince him that they are there to help protect him."

"Will he believe you?" L'Hernault snatched at the vain hope.

"I will make sure that he believes me," Gaston boasted.

"What should I do?" L'Hernault offered.

Gaston's eyes hardened. "It's simple; a matter of principle. You will finish what you started."

"What?" L'Hernault did not realise that he was holding his breath, fearing that he knew only too well the meaning behind Gaston's words.

"Kill your Musketeer!"


	81. Chapter 81

_**Thank you as always. Goodness, no sooner have I uploaded one chapter than it's time to put up the next one!**_

CHAPTER 81

I

Athos leaned against the wall and inclined his head towards the slightly open door as he eavesdropped upon the deliberately polite exchange between Vicomte Menier and Cardinal Richelieu.

Menier stated his business succinctly. He had with him a petition signed by twenty-six men of varying ranks within the nobility, all of them agreed on several pertinent complaints relating to crippling taxation, some disputed borders with specific crown lands, royal dictates on land use and restrictions from Paris regarding authority. The nobles were seen as the upholders of the law in their regions but some legal decisions were to be deferred to Paris.

"If you give me the petition, I will ensure that his Majesty receives it at an appropriate time," said Richelieu.

"No offence, Cardinal, but I would rather deliver it to him in person," Menier insisted.

"None taken, but I am the King's First Minister, his chief adviser."

"There is no need to remind me."

"You doubt that I would hand over your document?"

"Such a suspicion would never enter my mind."

It was a lie and the men – Athos included – knew that.

"I would like the opportunity of reading it before His Majesty so that I can start to formulate a response, to think how best I might counsel him," Richelieu explained.

"And I suggest that you would like to get your hands on it first to see who has signed it so that you can begin _inviting_ them for a little téte-à- téte regarding their involvement," Menier retorted.

"That leads me to suspect that some of them may not be too far away, perhaps even guests of His Majesty as we speak," Richelieu snapped. He was not admitting that he already knew the names of those involved but was making it clear to the Vicomte that he was aware that danger might not be far away.

Menier would neither confirm nor deny the comment, preferring to change the subject slightly.

"I would not interrupt His Majesty during the hunt, but I request an audience with him at the first available opportunity. I will return this evening."

"I think not," said the Cardinal assertively. "You would not interrupt the hunt and I will not have you interrupt this evening's banquet. His Majesty is entertaining his guests."

There was a brief silence and Athos wished that he could see into the room; he had tried peering through the crack provided by the door and although he could see a part of Richeliue's face and his gestures, Menier was not standing within his eye-line.

"I _will _see His Majesty, Richelieu. I will return at nine in the morning." There was no mistaking the anger in Menier's voice now.

The exchange was growing increasingly strained and Athos briefly glanced to where he had laid his weapons within easy reach on a nearby table. He might not particularly like Richelieu, but he would, without hesitation, move to defend him against the self-appointed leader of the disgruntled nobles. Shifting position slightly, a sharp pain in his side reminded him of his limitations and he wondered how effective he might be if called upon to protect the Cardinal. Perhaps his sudden appearance would be all that was necessary.

"You may well have a long wait then," the Cardinal said icily. "His Majesty will be enjoying a day of rest and I doubt that he will be such an early riser."

"Then I will wait, Richelieu. You can make all the excuses you want, but I _will_ deliver my petition to the King and I_ will _hear his response from his own lips, rather than a second-hand message passed on by you. Try to stop me again, and you will be the one responsible for what happens next."

Angry footsteps.

"And what _will_ happen next, Menier?" Richelieu called out.

A slamming door was the only answer.

Athos exhaled and opened the door wide to step into the outer room.

"You heard all that?" the Cardinal asked.

Athos nodded as he moved to join the Minister; the two stared at the closed door.

"I think we know where we stand now," Richelieu murmured and turned back to his desk.

II

"Tréville's orders were clear. We're to watch L'Hernault and do nothing unless he moves against Athos," Aramis said, hands on hips and standing in Porthos' path, moving to block it again as the big Musketeer attempted to get past him.

"That's madness!" Porthos was furious. "We could deal with 'im now so the danger to Athos is removed and we can concentrate on the rebels' threat."

"The Captain must have his reasons," d'Artagnan added, a hand on Porthos' arm in a half-hearted attempt to hold him back, "though I can't think what they might be."

"I feel as you do," Aramis said, looking at Porthos, "but d'Artagnan is right. Tréville was quite specific. Maybe he agreed something with Athos."

"Yeah?" Porthos spat out. "I bet he did. So why couldn't Athos agree something with us? Answer me that! More secrets. I don't like bein' left out of whatever it is. An' I'll say as much next time I see Athos. Isn't it about time he trusted us?"

Aramis ran a hand through his hair. "He does trust us - in his own way. He cannot help his inability to be as open with us as we would like; we've known that much for years. Now, after his injury, we must not press him any further. If he has chosen to share something with the Captain, rather than us - and we don't even know if he has - then I accept that. We will do what is asked of us … and that's protect Athos from this L'Hernault. He may try another attack but, equally, he may not."

"Then we will satisfy ourselves in the task we have been given and that is to watch over Athos," d'Artagnan asserted. He was not about to have anyone hurt his brother and mentor again, not if he could help it. He fixed Porthos with a stare, eyebrows raised and awaiting a response to his unspoken question.

Porthos huffed out his cheeks and spread his hands submissively. "Alright, I agree. Still doesn't mean I 'ave to like it an' I'll still be 'avin' words with Athos when all this is over."

And with that, three of the four _Inseparables _had to be content.


	82. Chapter 82

_**Good afternoon, all. Thank you for the comments and for reading. Apologies for not responding to folk individually each time but I love hearing from you an having this contact.**_

_**Apologies for any errors that have crept through and thanks to friends who saw I'd put 'Athos' instead of 'Aramis' yesterday; I did go in and correct it but thanks for spotting it.**_

CHAPTER 82

I

L'Hernault was seething. He did not need Gaston's instruction to eliminate Athos for it was currently at the top of his list of priorities, but he was not foolish enough to tackle the continued problem without some careful consideration. He could not ignore his fear, for he had not expected to find that Athos was one of the King's élite regiment. The man had to be highly trained and skilled and had demonstrated that ability in disposing of L'Hernault's men. He was convinced that the reason behind the silence of the three had to be that they were lying dead somewhere in the French countryside and if Athos had dispatched the trio with such consummate ease, it begged the question whether L'Hernault could kill him on his own.

He paced the ground distractedly behind the King's pavilion. He saw no advantage in appearing at the picnic for he had lost the little appetite he had since discovering that Athos still lived.

There had long been a time when he wanted to confront the Comte face-to-face, to exact revenge for the years of suffering his own father had experienced, culminating in his death. Correction, murder at the hands of Athos' parent. His father, denied justice at the time, would finally be able to rest in peace if L'Hernault were able to settle matters. A life for a life; it was as simple as that.

But that was before L'Hernault learned that Athos was a trained soldier.

He had to find another way of gaining the advantage, of securing the same result through more subtle means. Was there anyone – besides Gaston – who could assist him?

Allaire! He was included in the King's party and privy to Gaston's involvement in the plot. Perhaps he could be prevailed upon to help improve the odds against the Musketeer.

L'Hernault needed to find the man and quickly. He had not joined the hunt this morning, so he must have remained at the lodge or in its vicinity. Perhaps one of the attendant ladies had caught his eye and he had stayed behind to try his luck in wooing her; either that or he had imbibed too much red wine at the previous evening's feast.

Resolved, L'Hernault slammed a fist into his open palm. He would go back to the lodge and find Allaire, explain the predicament and appeal to him for help. Perhaps he could make discreet enquiries of the Musketeers not on the current protective detail, find out a little more of the talents and habits of his nemesis.

He glanced towards Gaston who was engrossed in conversation with a noble and his lady. No-one would miss him if he slipped away and headed back to the lodge.

L'Hernault strode towards where he had left his horse, unaware that three pairs of dark eyes were following his every move.

II

"d'Artagan, you stay here and tell the Captain where we've gone and why," Aramis instructed, sealing his water bottle and reaching for his hat which he had set on the grass.

The Gascon looked towards the King's pavilion.

"He's talking to Louis right now, but I'll go over and wait. Perhaps I can attract his attention, tell him and then come to join you," he added hopefully, not wanting to miss anything that involved L'Hernault, who posed such a threat to his brother.

Porthos threw the remainder of his bread and cheese onto the ground, his attention fixed on H'Hernault.

"We'd better get movin'; he's on 'is 'orse."

D'Artagnan grabbed Aramis by the arm. "Just make sure you look after Athos."

III

"I made sure some of our men were close to Serge, nothin' too obvious. Didn't want to antagonise the Cardinal's men. They're riled enough as it is," and Claude looked apologetically in Richelieu's direction.

The Cardinal said nothing, but the twitching of his facial muscles betrayed the battle to control his temper.

"Don't want you to think I'm a tell-tale but I thought you ought to know 'ow ugly it's getting' out there," Claude added.

Athos ran a hand tiredly over his face; it was anything but quiet working in the Cardinal's office,

"No, you did the right thing, Claude. Thank you."

"You want me to stay outside? Be on 'and if you want to send more messages or should I be getting' back to camp to keep an eye on things?"

"Describe the ringleader," Richelieu demanded before Athos could answer.

Claude turned respectfully to face him. "Huge man; taller than any man I know, even Porthos," this last he directed at Athos. "Not much hair on 'is 'ead, big eyes that stick out an' a loud, croaky voice. 'E certainly didn't 'ave much trouble getting' everyone to hear 'im."

Richelieu frowned.

"You know who fits that description?" Athos asked.

"Naturally." Richelieu looked at Claude. "On your way out, send in one of my guards."

In a calculated disregard for the Cardinal, Claude turned slowly to look at Athos. If he was to be dismissed, it would come from his own Lieutenant and not the First Minister. The rancour was beginning to spread like a contagion.

Athos nodded, signalling that the older Musketeer should leave. "Remain outside please, Claude, in case I have need of you."

Claude pointed at the small sack he had put down on the edge of Athos' table. "Just make sure you eat some of that."

"Who is the man?" Athos asked when they were alone again.

"Grenouille. He is to Planque as you are to Tréville."

"He has authority." Athos was surprised.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and the entrance of one of the Red Guard.

"Find Captain Planque and tell him I wish to see him immediately," Richelieu snapped.

As the door closed again,he continued. "Sadly, yes, Grenouille has authority and it has succeeded in making him even more of a trouble-maker and a torment than he was before."

"He harasses the men?" Athos could not conceive of someone in such a trusted position abusing the power he had been given.

"A few, perhaps, but generally he has the supportive ear of the men. No, I have no proof, just a suspicion, but I fear that the more frequent victim of his intimidatory tactics is Planque himself."


	83. Chapter 83

**_Good afternoon, all, _**

**_As always, thank you for reading the last chapter and lovely to hear from some of you. Hope these chapters provide a brief entertainment each day! I'm a few chapters ahead in the writing - currently writing ch 91._**

**_So, what is L'Hernault up to?_**

CHAPTER 83

I

"We ought to speed up, close the gap." Aramis sounded worried.

"He's 'eadin' back to the lodge," Porthos stated unnecessarily.

"And Athos is within the lodge, working with Richelieu."

"Then he's safe. L'Hernault's hardly goin' to burst into Richelieu's office an' attack Athos in front of the Cardinal now, is he?"

"This is Athos we're talking about," Aramis said grimly. "When have you ever known him do exactly as he's told all the time? And who's to know if Richelieu has actually kept to his side of the arrangement. He may have gone off alone or taken advantage of having a Musketeer to be at his beck and call and sent Athos on an errand."

Porthos thought carefully over what Aramis had just said.

"You're right. We need to speed up an' close that gap."

II

L'Hernault was concentrating so hard on what he planned to do next that he was oblivious to the two Musketeers pursuing him.

Reaching the lodge's stables, he dismounted so quickly that he almost lost his footing, much to the amusement of the smirking stable boy who had emerged to take the animal from him. Disregarding the boy, L'Hernault strode towards a side entrance of the lodge and hesitated when he saw a group of Red Guard soldiers lounging on the grass, seated on benches or perched upon tabletops. Some were cleaning their weapons, but all were enjoying the sun, laughing and joking as they relaxed.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged them breezily. A couple nodded in response, but the vast majority paid him no heed, engrossed as they were with a tale being regaled by one of them. L'Hernault caught the word 'Musketeer', saw one of the guards spit contemptuously into the dirt at his feet and heard the string of derisive comments that followed. There was no love lost between the two regiments then.

It was as he was approaching the last table that he saw them, a brace of pistols lying on the tabletop behind a soldier who was busily adding his own scornful account of his experiences with the King's men.

The idea was immediate. L'Hernault slowed a little as his hand reached out, grabbed one of the pistols and concealed it beneath his cloak.

His heart in his mouth, he headed towards the entrance to the lodge where two of the Red Guard were supposedly on duty, but they were too busy listening to the others to do their duty. Neither one stopped him to ask who he was or why he was there – one of them even deigned to open the door for him.

Perhaps they had recognised him as amongst the King's guests. That was possible but it also signified a degree of laxness in their attitude towards the protection of the King and his party. Unless, of course, they had not been apprised of the potential threat to Louis that was gathering beyond Versailles.

As he made his way down the cool corridor, he hoped that they had not paid too much attention to him for he was only now working out the finer details of the notion that had come to mind and the theft of the weapon would be noticed fairly quickly and reported. He hurried to his small room on an upper floor. It was his association with Gaston that had assured him of accommodation within the lodge, unlike the other lower ranked nobles, who camped in lavish marquees to the north east of the lodge. He had thought the room inconvenient but now he welcomed its remoteness and there were no servants around to mark his presence.

With shaking hands, he used some of his own powder and shot to load the weapon so that it was ready. He had to find a secure yet accessible place to conceal it for it could not be discovered in his room once the alarm was raised and in the event of a search.

He would take advantage of the bad feeling between the King's men and the Cardinal's men. What better than to incriminate a member of the Red Guard in the shooting of a Musketeer, all the better if the Musketeer happened to be the former Comte de la Fère. That only left the disposal of the weapon after he had used it, but he need not think of that right now.

Slipping the weapon in his belt and pulling his cloak around him to hide it, he opened the door of his room, checked that no-one was around and emerged into the hallway.

III

Planque entered, crossing the room to Richelieu's desk with an easy swagger and pointedly ignoring Athos' existence again. He was clearly not anticipating what Richelieu was about to say to him.

"Get your men in check, Captain. I have reliable information that they are about to cause problems with the Musketeers."

The officer's head turned to take in Athos, his face a mask of pure hatred.

"Information supplied by Musketeers, no doubt," he sneered.

"And not without cause," Richelieu snapped. "Grenouille is manipulating the men, agitating them. I will make an example of anyone causing problems at this time." He leaned forward menacingly, hands clasped together, "and that is no idle threat. Make sure that your men understand that, Planque. I thought that I had made myself perfectly clear about behaviour before we left Paris, but it obviously needs to be repeated. Deal with it."

"Yes, Your Eminence; my apologies."

This time, when he walked back past Athos, he kept his eyes on the door ahead, his cheeks burning with shame.

Athos stood as soon as the door shut. "I think it would be advisable if I went to the Musketeer camp and reiterated those instructions to them."

Richelieu's brow furrowed. "But Tréville said you were to remain here."

"Neither of us wants to see our men at loggerheads; there are too many issues of greater importance. I will not be gone long, and I will have Claude for company."

Richelieu sighed dramatically. "Very well, but hurry back. I have more letters for you to copy."

Athos, relieved to have some time away from the Cardinal, started down the corridor. Claude saw him approaching and straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall.

"With me, Claude," was all Athos said, not breaking his stride. He saw Planque disappear around a corner and quickened his step.

"Captain!" he called when he saw the man in front of him again.

Planque halted. When he realised who had called to him, his face darkened.

"What do you want?"

"I wish to accompany you to the camps, to address the Musketeers. I, too, want to remind them of what is expected of them."

Planque's eyes narrowed as he studied Athos, as if weighing up the man before him and wondering about his motive but, eventually, he acquiesced with an abrupt nod.

They began to walk together, Claude falling into step behind them as they passed through tall double doors and out into the afternoon air.


	84. Chapter 84

_**Greetings, all. Thank you for reading and for leaving comments.**_

_**I am just going to let this chapter speak for itself!**_

CHAPTER 84

I

Porthos and Aramis rode into the stable yard and slipped from their horses with ease. Tethering their mounts, they turned deaf ears to the jeers emanating from a group of Red Guard sitting nearby and headed into the cool darkness of the stable.

A stable boy was rubbing down the black horse that L'Hernault had been riding.

"A beautiful animal," Aramis began conversationally, rubbing the animal's nose.

"That he is," answered the boy, intent upon his work.

"The man who was ridin' him. Did you see where he went?" Porthos asked, still watching the Red Guards outside.

The boy's eyes widened fearfully as Aramis drew his dagger, but then visibly relaxed as the Musketeer reached into a basket of apples stored there as a treat for the horses and cut it in half. He held out one part in the palm of his hand to the animal and bit into the other part himself.

"I brought the horse straight in but he was headin' for that side door past those soldiers."

Porthos tossed a coin as reward for the information and grinned as the boy caught it, exclaiming his delight. The two Musketeers moved to stand in the entrance to the stables. The Red Guards glared at them in open hostility.

"I think we should use a different entrance," Aramis said calmly.

"Surely you're not scared by a bunch o' the Cardinal's men?" Porthos was surprised.

"Not at all," Aramis quipped, "but they look as if they are spoiling for a fight we would do well to avoid. For a start, they outnumber us five to one …"

"I like unfavourable odds," Porthos interrupted.

Aramis chuckled. "I know you do, my friend, but I am remembering the Captain's orders as far as the Red Guard are concerned and I, for one, would not want to add to his worries at this time. We have effectively lost L'Hernault for the time being. We need to locate his room and the person most likely to have access to the information as to who has been housed where is Athos. We can go and ask him and to do that, the front door is far more convenient for the Cardinal's office."

"And in goin' to see Athos now, we can also make sure L'Hernault isn't 'angin' around."

"Exactly!"

"I'm not supposed to look after the soldiers' horses," a voice said behind them, "but I will if you want me to."

Porthos turned and ruffled the stable boy's hair. "They're good. We fed them not too long ago. Maybe they'd like one of those apples, though, and some water. They can stay saddled as we'll be headin' back to the hunt when we've finished 'ere."

II

The Captain of the Red Guard was no conversationalist and resentment rolled off him in waves as he and Athos started across the open ground to the regiments' camps.

Athos could not help but feel sorry for the man, although Planque would only be incensed further if he knew what was going through the Musketeer's head. The two officers were similar in so many ways. They were soldiers, dedicated to the regiments they had joined; they were also close in age, height, colouring and rank.

More importantly, they were both victims of harassment.

The thorn in Athos' side was one Delacroix who, for some reason, had taken a dislike to Athos as soon as he joined the regiment. As the son of a minor noble who had gained his commission solely because his father had parted with sufficient silver, he was totally oblivious to Athos' aristocratic background and considered himself superior to the former Comte. The treatment took a variety of forms, including verbal abuse, veiled threats and the spurring on of friends to join in making his life a misery whenever they could. He remained convinced that Delacroix had been behind the savage beating he had suffered when they were besieged on the Îsle de Ré three years before*, but he had no proof. Tréville was aware of the situation and had offered to intervene on more than one occasion, as had Porthos and Aramis, but Athos had refused. Why had he done that?

Perhaps it was his pride, the knowledge that he would deal with Delacroix himself somehow, someday of his own choosing. But perhaps it was because he still harboured a strange belief that he deserved what was meted out to him by the other man; that he was no longer worthy of a trouble-free existence because of what had happened in his past. There had been a strange truce between them that had lasted for several months, long enough for Athos to suspect that the Captain had indeed had words with the other Musketeer, but he was not ready to believe that Delacroix had abandoned his underhand tactics for good. Tréville remained mindful of the situation and Athos wondered how Delacroix had taken the news that he and a couple of his closest friends- if any of them could be described as such – were to remain behind in Paris. Perhaps, after all, that was another reason why the Captain let Athos accompany the Musketeers headed to Versailles.

He had men- good men – to watch his back. Whom did Planque have to support him when he had Grenouille harassing him from one direction and Richelieu from the other? The Cardinal was undoubtedly intimidating when he thought it served his purpose.

III

The lodge itself was E-shaped without the middle bar and L'Hernault was on the ground floor of the north east wing, searching for a suitable hiding place for the weapon that seemed to be weighing him down. He had toyed with a room on one of the two storeys above, but he wanted it as far away from his room as possible and he thought, rightly or wrongly, that he could access it more quickly if it were to be secreted on the ground floor. Carefully avoiding areas frequented by the Queen and the ladies of the party and keeping alert for servants, he made his way along the wing, relieved that occupancy of the various rooms decreased the further he went.

He slipped into the last unoccupied room, furnished as a small salon and with a dual aspect. He pulled at drawers, opened doors in ornate cupboards and tapped at the panelling around the walls. Despairing of finding anywhere suitable to conceal the pistol, he was considering the options of hiding it outside and glanced through one of the windows.

His jaw dropped in disbelief.

There was Athos walking with two other men in the open! He could not believe his good fortune that an opportunity to achieve his aim was presenting itself so soon.

If it were to be done now, he had to be quick for the Musketeer would soon pass beyond range. Considered a 'good shot' amongst his friends, his mind raced as he opened the window, primed the flintlock weapon and took aim at his target.

IV

"Enter!"

Porthos and Aramis doffed their hats and opened the door to Richelieu's office. It did not take long for them to see that Athos was not there.

"What is it?" Richelieu demanded.

Aramis dipped his head, "Our apologies for disturbing you, Your Eminence, but we were expecting to find Athos here."

"Well, you can see that he is not in the room. I must have words with your Captain. I do not welcome my office being turned into a social meeting place for Musketeers."

Porthos bristled but Aramis elbowed him to keep quiet.

"Our profuse apologies again, but we had a question regarding the guests and were hoping not to bother you. Will he return soon?" Aramis asked.

"He left with Captain Planque to sort out a disagreement between the men." Richelieu turned a page in the book he was reading, thereby effectively dismissing the two Musketeers.

Their deferential nods were derisory, but he did not favour their departure with even the briefest of glances.

"'E's full of 'is usual charm," Porthos grumbled as they headed to the nearest exit at the back of the lodge.

"No wonder Athos seized the opportunity to escape," Aramis agreed, opening the door.

At that moment, the sound of a shot filled the air.


	85. Chapter 85

_**Good afternoon, I trust this finds you all well.**_

_**So, what has L'Hernault done?**_

CHAPTER 85

Porthos and Aramis turned full circle.

"Where did that come from?" Porthos asked as he and Aramis frantically studied the windows that were now in shadow.

"More that way," Aramis said, pointing towards the northern corner of the building.

"Who were they shootin' at? It wasn't us an' they couldn't 'ope to reach the camp from 'ere."

"No idea," Aramis answered, puzzled. Then his eyes widened in horror, and he slapped Porthos on the arm to gain his attention. "The camp!"

Its significance was not lost on the big Musketeer. "Where Athos was goin'."

They broke into a run and headed towards the end of the building, skidding to a stop when they rounded it and saw two men on the ground, a third kneeling over them.

"Athos!" Porthos bellowed and took off again, Aramis close behind.

By the time they reached him, Athos was on his hands and knees, groaning and swaying, whilst Claude steadied him.

"Athos?" Aramis dropped in front of him, fingers beneath his chin to raise his head. "Where are you hurt?" he demanded at the sight of the blood that ran in rivulets down his face and spattered his clothing; blood and something else.

"It's not his," Claude said reassuringly and nodded to where Planque lay unmoving.

Porthos finished his examination. "Dead," he announced simply. "Hit in the head."

"Not a pretty sight," Claude concurred.

"But you are hurt," Aramis insisted as he helped Athos to turn and sit in the dirt.

"I am fine," Athos said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and beginning to wipe the mess from his face. "When Planque was hit, he knocked me off my feet and I landed awkwardly on my left side. I'm fine," he reiterated, slapping Aramis' hands down as the garrison's medic attempted to unbuckle the leather doublet.

"Let me be the judge of that," Aramis declared. "I want to check those stitches. They're due to come out soon so it would be unfortunate if you were to tear them now."

As Athos grudgingly surrendered to his friend's care, Claude gave Porthos a brief account of events as he knew them. It was, sadly, very little.

Musketeers, drawn by the sound of the shot, raced over the ground from the camp whilst a few Red Guard appeared from around the building so that Porthos and Claude now had the task of keeping the newcomers back, especially when the Cardinal's men recognized the body as being that of their Captain.

Immediately, allegations of Musketeer wrongdoing rent the air and the situation was turning uglier by the second.

"Enough!" roared Porthos and the men abruptly fell into a shocked silence. "Stop with the accusations before you know the details. These three men were walking together over to the camp, Musketeer and Red Guard _together, _when the shot came from the building."

As the ranking officer on the scene, Athos struggled to his feet to assume control. He felt that he would have very little authority if he remained sitting on the ground. He swayed and Aramis caught his elbow, but he shook off the grip.

"You men," and he looked directly to the half a dozen Red Guard that were present, "go around the outside of the building that way and apprehend anyone you see. You are not to use force unless they pose a threat to you."

"An' who are you to be givin' us orders?" a belligerent voice shouted.

Athos, his face still bearing the marks of Planque's drying blood, gave one of his piercing stares guaranteed to cow even the hardest ne'er-do-well. When he spoke, his voice was deep and resonant, the tone brooking no nonsense. "I am Athos and the Captain's second-in-command. In his absence and," he indicated Planque's corpse, "that of your own Captain, I suggest you do not waste any more time." He then ignored them, turning to the Musketeers. "You six, do the same in that direction."

As the Musketeers obeyed without question, the Red Guard looked at each other. One of them shrugged and headed off where Athos had sent them.

"Claude, I need you to go to the Cardinal and tell him what's happened," Athos continued.

"Serge looks as if 'e's in a hurry," Porthos said and gesticulated to where the cook was coming towards them as fast as he could, chest heaving, waving wildly behind him in the direction of the camp and shouting at them, his words indistinct.

"Now what?" Aramis asked as he, Porthos and Athos moved to meet the old man.

Serge was wheezing for breath. "Fightin' … Red Guard … Musketeers … over food … couldn't ... stop'em," he gasped.

Athos rolled his eyes. "What else can go wrong today? No!" he called out to the other Musketeers who were about to follow him. "I need you to make a circle at a distance around the body. Protect the area. No-one is to come near."

He started to run to catch up with his friends, the fastest he had tried to move for a long time, but the pain in his side slowed him considerably and he had to grit his teeth to endure the effort of a jog.

Serge's cooking area – the tent, campfire and preparation table – had been flattened, caught as it was in the centre of a massive brawl between the men of the two regiments. One of the supply carts had been pushed over, depositing boxes and sacks over the ground, some of them bursting on impact to spill their contents into the soil.

Porthos waded into the fray, pulling men apart and throwing them aside as though they were rag poppets, bellowing at them to stop their nonsense whilst Aramis primed his pistol and fired it into the air.

Athos grabbed an empty box and set it upside down on the ground. It was not much but, when he stood on it, it provided him with a little extra height so that all could see him.

"This is neither the time nor the place for such a scene," he began. There were some audible, caustic comments from members of the Red Guard, some of whom recognised him from the Palace or when their paths crossed in Paris taverns. Porthos stepped towards them, using his fearsome glare, height and build to good advantage silencing them.

"Is a man called Grenouille here?" Athos called out.

There was a murmuring and heads turned to focus on one man crouching in the dirt. He was every bit as Claude had described him. As he stood up, he seemed to keep on unfolding and growing. Athos would not have thought it possible, but he was definitely taller than Porthos and broader at the shoulder. Of indeterminate age, he was balding and incredibly ugly with his upper lip curled in a lop-sided snarl and pale, bulbous eyes.

"Who wants to know?" he demanded contemptuously.

Athos sighed. He was becoming frustrated with repeatedly introducing himself to the Red Guard and he took a deep breath to contain his temper.

"I am Athos, Tréville's lieutenant. I understand you are my counterpart in the Red Guard." He stepped down from the box and walked slowly, the men of both regiments falling back to give him easy access to the giant.

Grenouille straightened up, his fists clenching as he stood there, intent upon intimidating the slighter Musketeer but Athos could play his own psychological game and he deliberately stopped short of the man to avoid having to tilt his head back in order to look him in the face; he was not prepared to lose the little authority he had in the situation.

"You need to get your men in order. I am here to tell you that Captain Planque has been murdered."


	86. Chapter 86

_**Greetings,**_

_**I hope this update finds you all well. In these strange times, I wish you all a very happy and peaceful Easter. It'll be a strange one - never spent it on my own in my life but needs must! I did buy myself an Easter egg though as I will not be seeing family!(lol)**_

_**V **_

CHAPTER 86

I

L'Hernault saw both men fall and bit the back of his hand in a mixture of shock and disbelief. He had not expected to find his mark and could not help feeling concerned that it had all been so easy. He saw the third man kneel between the two; obviously Athos had grabbed at the other soldier as he collapsed. There was a moment of regret for L'Hernault had been looking forward to confronting the Musketeer, the man he had hated for as long as he could remember. He had spent so long rehearsing the grievances he wanted to level at the man he still thought of as his half-brother Now he had lost that chance but there was still the undeniable sense of elation that he had achieved what he had desired for so long. Olivier d'Athos was dead.

Alarmed shouts and the sight of two men running towards the scene alerted him that he needed to vacate the room as quickly as possible. The hue and cry were about to be raised and he still had to dispose of the weapon and find Allaire. If that search proved fruitless, he had to reach the sanctuary of his room on the top floor.

His mind was still mulling over recent events as he made haste back the way he had come only minutes earlier. Was it really so short a time? It seemed more like an age.

When the young Comte de la Fère had disappeared without a trace five years before, L'Hernault had felt cheated, deprived of the revenge that his murdered father deserved. It never occurred to him that he had procrastinated for years, passing up countless opportunities for an early resolution. He was astonished when he saw Athos appear at the meeting and could not understand why the aristocrat had adopted a false identity. It was clear now, of course. The Musketeer was a spy in the employment of the King and had learned all about the plans of the disgruntled members of the nobility. It was unfortunate that the task of dealing with Athos had been delegated to his three men, although he had thought them more than capable of the deed before he discovered that they had failed spectacularly. It was highly unlikely that any of them still lived but now they, too, had been avenged.

Suddenly rejuvenated by his success, L'Hernault jauntily ran up the stairs to the first floor and headed towards the room where Allaire was staying and rapped at the door.

II

"Now is not the time to fight amongst yourselves," Athos declared.

Initially stunned by his announcement about Planque's death, Grenouille and his colleagues had quickly surrounded him, a development that did not sit easily with the Musketeers, but at his raised hand, they all fell silent again.

"The more time spent answering your questions, the more time the perpetrator has to make good his escape. Your Captain was shot from somewhere within the lodge. It is time for you all to work together. Get this mess cleared up and salvage as much of the stores as you can.

"Any of you who have suffered hurt are to see Aramis here. He is the Musketeer's field medic. Aramis, please check Musketeers _and_ the Red Guard and do it in order of severity of injuries. There is to be no preferential treatment."

Aramis nodded. "I'll just get my bag of supplies," and he headed off towards their tent.

"You two," and Athos deliberately pointed at a Musketeer and the Red Guard who had been brawling together only minutes before. "Get plenty of water. Aramis will need it to clean out any cuts."

He half expected a flat refusal at the command to co-operate and was surprised when they looked at each other and the Red Guard extended his hand to signify a cessation in hostilities. The Musketeer warily took the proffered hand and then shook it warmly. Grinning, they wandered off together in the search for receptacles to carry the water.

"Porthos!"

The big man stepped up to Athos' side.

"I want you to take down the names of any Musketeer involved in this fracas and find out what you can about how this started. It will be the Captain's decision as to what happens to them." His green eyes bored into Grenouille. "You will have someone do the same with your men. In the meantime, you and I will return to the scene of the crime."

The other man's discomfort was plain to see as he assigned the proposed task to the soldier standing closest to him so that Athos took some grim satisfaction in assuming correctly that Grenouille had been heavily involved in the dispute, but he could not spare the time to dwell upon it. He started back across the grass, teeth clenched to the worsening pain in his side and made a mental note not to throw himself to the ground when injured in future.

He did not acknowledge Grenouille when the man caught up with him and controlled his stride to match that of the Musketeer as they walked.

"I may not have liked the man, but he did not deserve this," Grenouille suddenly said.

"Why did you dislike him so?" Athos asked. He knew from a short, bitter experience that Planque did not endear himself to anyone, but he could not help wondering if that was because the officer felt so unsure of himself and consequently behaved aggressively.

"Perhaps I shouldn't be saying this, given that it's a murder inquiry and all. I don't want to incriminate myself; after all, I didn't exactly hide the fact I despised him."

"I do not know why you are worried. You, out of everybody currently here, have the best alibi!"

They were approaching the circle of Musketeers and the prone figure of the dead officer was visible but Grenouille stopped, frowning.

A plethora of biting comments came to Athos' mind, but he refrained from uttering any of them aloud. Was it really a pre-requisite of the Red Guard that they should be so lacking in intelligence?

"Planque was killed here by a shot fired from the lodge. You were at some distance over there in the midst of a fray with about thirty witnesses, not least your specific opponents. Given your height and build, it would be very hard for you to slip anywhere unnoticed!"

He thought, momentarily, that he had offended the huge man by stating the obvious and emphasising his build because the frown deepened but then, just as suddenly, Grenouille threw back his head and guffawed with laughter.

"You're good, you are! Why didn't I think of that?" and he slapped Athos amicably on the back but he, like Porthos, was oblivious at times to his strength and the gesture sent Athos staggering.

"Perhaps you were in shock?" Athos drily offered, recovering himself.

Grenouille laughed again, his mirth totally inappropriate for the situation. "I like you!"

Athos groaned inwardly. He would have preferred to add Grenouille to his ever-growing list of enemies rather than unexpectedly gain him as a 'friend.'


	87. Chapter 87

_**Happy Easter Saturday to you all! Thank you to all the readers yesterday and for the. comments.**_

_**So many things happening either simultaneously now or in quick succession.**_

CHAPTER 87

I

"So, if I understand you correctly," Allaire said lightly as he handed L'Hernault a large brandy, "you have just shot dead one of his Majesty's Musketeers."

L'Hernault was sitting on a hard, upright chair, the impact of what he had done beginning to have an adverse effect upon him. As he recounted the events to Allaire, he paled and there was a distinct tremor in his hands. He nodded affirmatively.

"Why on earth would you do that? You were at the hunt. Was the odd pheasant not enough for you? You thought it would be more of a sport to cut down one of the King's men instead?" The corners of his lips twitched in poorly disguised amusement.

"This is no laughing matter," L'Hernault complained.

"You're right," and Allaire composed his expression, "but I'm still intrigued as to why you deemed it necessary. To act against one of the King's soldiers is guaranteed to bring the wrath of the entire regiment down upon you."

"I really needed to know that."

"Sorry but it is a well-known fact that Musketeers will not rest until they have their man. Again, what possessed you?"

L'Hernault was unwilling to divulge any of his family history but he did admit to recognising Athos as a Musketeer who had successfully infiltrated the meeting under an assumed name and who had, in all probability, reported everything he had heard to those who needed to know; namely his Captain, the Cardinal and the King.

Suddenly Allaire was no longer amused. "They know of the plot?"

"They must do," L'Hernault asserted. "I sent my best three men after him to intercept him. I have not seen or heard from them since, but then he turned up here at Versailles, alive and well."

"You think he killed all of them?"

"Undoubtedly. He must be highly trained to be a Musketeer. Anyway, I was obeying Gaston's orders. He was so angry when I told him the plot had potentially been compromised, he wanted the man killed as a matter of principle."

"He'll be happy about that at least," Allaire said, remembering Gaston's mercurial nature; in that, he was similar to his older brother, Louis. "So we need a story," he continued, "an alibi for when the investigation gets under way."

L'Hernault nodded eagerly. It was such a relief to be passing some of the decision-making to someone else for a change.

"It's much better to keep to the truth as much as we can; we don't want to muddy the waters any more than necessary. I confess to imbibing too much of His Majesty's brandy after last night's feast and subsequently did not want to bounce around on horseback this morning. That much is true. Then you, my dear friend, realised that I was not at the hunt and so, after your picnic lunch, you opted to return here to find me and ask after my health. When you discovered that I was still feeling a little delicate, you resolved to remain with me to elevate my spirits. We have been in each other's company ever since."

"So when I left my horse with the stable boy, it would not be considered unusual for me to make use of the side entrance. He and the Cardinal's men who were sitting out there would remember seeing me and could identify me."

"Oh, I don't know. I've heard it said more than once that the Cardinal's men are selected more for their brawn than brain and they probably hold the view that one nobleman looks very much like another one anyway."

"But they will associate me with the missing pistol," L'Hernault reminded him. He had spilled out his story in a rush and did not want Allaire to overlook that part.

"You had better give it to me," Allaire instructed him, "and I will dispose of it for you." He held out his hand and L'Hernault obediently handed over the weapon.

"You'd better do it quickly."

"I will when the opportunity arises but, for now, I know exactly where I will conceal it."

From under the bed, Allaire took out a beautiful marquetry box and set it on the bedside table. From around his neck, he took a chain with a key and unlocked it. Taking out an upper layer and setting it aside, he placed the soldier's pistol in the bottom and put everything back.

"That box is a beautiful piece," L'Hernault commented as Allaire stowed it beneath the bed again and resumed his seat.

He picked up the glass and raised it, studying its amber contents against the late afternoon light streaming in through the window.

"Yes, it is, isn't it? I picked it up in Antwerp last year. They're masters of that work there. I keep my own pistol in it."

"But you will get rid of the stolen one as soon as possible, won't you?" L'Hernault persisted.

"Of course I will. Now relax and give this divine brandy your full attention," Allaire said, smiling.

As he sipped his own drink, he reflected on the fact that he had no intention whatsoever of disposing of the pistol, for he was convinced the time would present itself when he might be able to use it against L'Hernault.

II

Cardinal Richelieu was at the scene when Athos and Grenouille arrived.

"Your version of events," Richelieu demanded as soon as he saw the Musketeer.

Claude was standing a little behind the Cardinal, so Athos knew that the First Minister already had the pertinent details, but he gave his own succinct account anyway. As Richelieu stood listening, stroking his goatee thoughtfully, Athos knew his words corroborated what Claude had said.

The Cardinal took a deep breath "Have you sorted the trouble in the camps? I gather it deteriorated into a fight."

"It did but all is resolved now," Athos assured him, avoiding eye contact with Grenouille. "When I left them, the men were working together to clear the mess."

Richelieu raised an eyebrow. "On your orders?" he asked Grenouille.

The big man did not hesitate. "No, his," and he indicated Athos.

"I see," the Cardinal said thoughtfully. "I will expect to know the identity of those involved; they will all be held responsible for having disobeyed my express orders."

Grenouille mumbled an indistinct response for he knew there could be no avoiding the trouble he was in.

Richelieu ignored the Red Guard as if he knew what the man had been doing and addressed Athos. " What do you intend doing next?"

Athos was taken aback. "Me?"

"Of course. Your man here," and the Cardinal nodded towards Claude, "tells me you immediately took control and sent men of both regiments to search for the person or persons responsible."

"I did," Athos admitted warily.

"Good. I like someone to demonstrate a little initiative. In the absence of your Captain Tréville, I'm placing you in charge of the investigation into the murder of the Captain of my guard with immediate effect. There is little I can do here so carry on." Richelieu turned, his black cloak billowing out in the breeze. He was already walking back towards his office when he called back over his shoulder. "Oh and have Planque's body removed from here into the lodge so that he can receive the diligence he is due at this time. A vigil must be mounted, it is only fitting."

Athos watched the departing figure in amazement.

"Well!" Claude said, his amusement evident. "You 'eard the Cardinal," and he snorted. "You'd best carry on!"


	88. Chapter 88

_**Happy Easter Sunday to you all.**_

_**Apologies if any errors have crept in here. Thank you for reading and commenting on yesterday's offering.**_

CHAPTER 88

Athos was standing deep in thought midway between the bloodstained grass and the lodge's northern wing when Aramis joined him.

"Nothing too serious for any of them," Aramis reported. "Just bumps, bruises and cuts. Serge is taking an inventory of what stores he's lost but he thinks it looked worse than it actually was. He can still use much of it, although we might be picking out blades of grass from our next stew."

"That's one relief anyway. Tréville is not going to be a happy man when he gets back to find out everything that has been happening here, especially when so little of it actually involves the rebels."

"You've had a busy time of it," Aramis agreed. "Stupid of me to tell you to slow down a bit, of course."

"Oh it gets better," Athos said and went on to tell Aramis that he was in charge of the investigation.

Aramis whistled through his teeth. "Not much pressure there then."

Athos frowned at his friend. "That reminds me. What are you doing back here? The hunt has not finished yet."

It was Aramis' turn to provide details now and he explained how he and Porthos had followed L'Hernault back to the lodge.

A chill ran down Athos' spine. "What has Tréville told you?" He hoped it was the story that had been agreed.

"That L'Hernault recognised you as a Musketeer at the meeting, realised you were there as a spy and sent the men who attacked you. Tréville's convinced that he'll try again and asked us, d'Artagnan as well, to maintain a watch on him. He led us back here but before we could do anything else, we heard the shot that killed Planque."

The two friends studied each other, realisation slowly dawning.

"You had no idea of L'Hernault's whereabouts within the lodge," Athos said calmly.

"We thought it more prudent to go directly to Richelieu's office to find you and he said you had just left to walk across to the camp … with Planque," Aramis added.

"What would you say about attempting a shot with a pistol from one of those windows, probably on the ground floor, taking into consideration where Planque fell?" Athos asked.

Aramis was the undisputed marksman of the regiment and Athos would always willingly defer to his expertise.

"You know it was a pistol and not a musket, given the mess it made of him?"

Athos nodded. "Some Red Guard were taking advantage of the sunshine and were sitting between a side entrance to the lodge and the stables."

"I know. Porthos and I saw them. We thought we'd give them a wide berth and entered the building by the main door at the front; it was also closer to Richelieu's office."

"You were checking up on me."

"Not primarily," and Aramis shook his head. "We thought you might have access to finding out which room L'Hernault was in; it would have been quicker than running up and down corridors and banging on doors or hiding round corners in the hope that he'd reappear. So, what about that pistol?"

"Apparently one of the Red Guard has lost his."

"Careless of him," Aramis said, his levity merely superficial.

"It was on a table behind him. A nobleman answering L'Hernault's description passed behind him in order to use that entrance."

Aramis sighed in exasperation, knowing only too well what had happened. It was an opportune moment but L'Hernaut had seized upon it.

"That shot?" Athos prompted him.

"I don't know L'Hernault's prowess with a weapon. At that distance, reliability in hitting the intended target is compromised. I could not make that shot with confidence and I would never have attempted a head shot. Thinking back to how the pair of you fell, you were on Planque's left, weren't you?"

Athos nodded. "I was even further from the window, yes." He bowed his head, closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This could be the shortest investigation in Musketeer history."

He felt Aramis' hand cup the back of his neck and looked up. The stoic mask he often wore had slipped completely; in its place was resignation, deep sadness … and responsibility.

"I was L'Hernault's target. He was trying to kill me again. It was a shot taken without thought, borne of despair and haste. It should have missed completely. Instead, an innocent man lies dead because of me."

Aramis tightened his grip, his rushed words spilling out as he endeavoured to console his brother. "No, no, don't. Don't do this, not to yourself. You are not taking this upon yourself. This is not your fault. In no way are you responsible. This is a man who saw you as a spy and he failed to stop you delivering vital information. Now he wants to finish his task, regardless of it still being relevant. It's the act of an angry, even deranged man."

_Deranged? _That was an interesting word for Aramis to have chosen. Perhaps L'Hernault was deranged if he had inherited any of his father's mental weakness.

But Athos felt a terrible weight of guilt from which there was no hope of escaping and not helped by his persistence in with-holding the truth. This went much further than retaliation for his infiltration of a meeting. No, it could be traced back nearly thirty-five years to the moment a feud began between the heads of two households. It had not ceased with the demise of one man and could only be concluded with the death of at least one more. Athos knew that now. There could be no reasoning with L'Hernault, no peaceful solution.

A shout distracted them. Porthos was heading towards them with long, easy strides. He held out two pages torn from a book.

"There's the list of the men who were fightin'," he explained. "Red Guard started it. Took a little time but they admitted it in the end. Our boys were just tryin' to protect the food an' Serge but it got out of 'and." He looked from one to the other of his friends, but Athos had taken the pages from him and was reading. "What's goin' on? Somethin's 'appened."

Athos refused to look up from the pages he was perusing, a signal to Aramis that _he_ was to tell Porthos what they had just been discussing. The marksman left out nothing, not even the part about Athos feeling responsible for Planque's death.

"That's rubbish!" Porthos retorted.

"My thoughts exactly," Aramis agreed, "although not my words."

"If anythin', me and Aramis 'ere are responsible."

"And how do you arrive at that conclusion?" Athos asked, folding and pocketing the papers.

"Because we followed 'im back 'ere, suspectin' that 'e was goin' to do somethin' and then we lost 'im. If we'd stopped 'im, Planque'd still be alive."

"Now _that _is rubbish as well and you know it," Athos stated.

Porthos pulled a face. "Then you ought to be rememberin' that sometimes. So, what're we doin' now?"

Athos straightened his doublet. "Now, gentlemen, we are going to apprehend a murderer."


	89. Chapter 89

_**Thanks to all those reading and commenting.**_

_**As for today's chapter? Uh-oh! **_

CHAPTER 89

I

Athos, Aramis and Porthos entered through the back of the lodge just as the hunting party and the picnic guests arrived at the front. Richelieu was already at the entrance, waiting to greet the royal couple but Louis could be heard well before he was seen, extolling the enjoyment of the day, made even more memorable by his killing of a stag.

"Bet 'e 'ad a bit of 'elp," Porthos whispered as they stood to one side, bowing low as the monarch swept past.

"At least he didn't accidentally kill a couple of beaters in the process," Aramis quipped, straightening up as a number of other guests also passed them on the way to their rooms for more refreshments or a rest after the day's activities.

Athos rolled his eyes, "That was in poor taste, considering."

Aramis apologised, adding, "There's the Captain."

Tréville had barely stepped inside the lodge, d'Artagnan at his side, when the Cardinal beckoned to him. He tried to school his features, but the three friends saw the flicker of irritation.

Glancing to where the three friends stood, Richelieu called out to Athos, "You must join us and make your report!"

"You'd best go; you've been summoned," Porthos grinned and raised a hand in greeting to d'Artagnan who was wandering over to them.

"I'll find out where L'Hernault's room is but, in the meantime, you three see if you can find him without that information," Athos instructed.

"We can start by going out to the stables, ask the boy there to let us know straight away if L'Hernault goes for his horse. We don't want him to run," Aramis suggested.

"Good. It might be an idea to make sure Gaston is where we expect him to be too," Athos advised. Nodding to the three, he broke away and headed back towards the Cardinal's office.

"What's going on?" d'Artagnan asked, bemused.

Aramis was watching Athos disappear from view.

"It's all been 'appenin' 'ere," Porthos began. "We'll tell you as we go."

II

Tréville, his face incredulous at what he was hearing, accepted the goblet of wine Athos held out to him and took a mouthful, the action giving him time to form a response. Richelieu had instructed that the lieutenant pour one for each of them.

"So, to sum up what you have told me," the Captain said carefully, "Menier has been here, announced he will return with his petition early tomorrow morning and making a veiled threat in the meantime. There was a total disregard of orders so that a full-scale fight broke out between the two regiments, and the Captain of the Red Guard has been shot dead. You, Athos, believe the shot was meant for you and that it was L'Hernault because he came back here, had the opportunity to steal a weapon and hasn't been seen since. Have I omitted anything?"

"Why should you think you were this man's target, rather than Planque?" Richelieu demanded.

"He recognised me as a Musketeer at the meeting and presumes, correctly, that I was there to spy upon proceedings." How easily the lie came to Athos' lips now.

"And the men who attacked Athos were sent by L'Hernault," Tréville added.

"I heard them mention his name," Athos declared, hoping to stall any more questions that the Cardinal might have.

From the way he sat back in his chair and sipped at his wine, the First Minister seemed to be satisfied.

"You will initiate a discreet yet thorough search of the lodge for this man," the Cardinal ordered.

"It is already under way," Athos informed him. "Someone from the stables will inform us if he attempts to leave. I would like to add a few more Musketeers to the search though," and he looked to Tréville for approval.

The Cardinal saw the glance. "You have the authority to do whatever you deem necessary."

Tréville was puzzled and Richelieu took obvious delight in explaining what he had done.

"In your absence, I put your man here in charge of the investigation and I have to say that I did not anticipate such a speedy resolution." Richelieu was smug but if he expected to take the Captain by surprise with his announcement, he was sorely disappointed.

"I cannot think of anyone more suited to the task, even if he was the intended victim," Tréville stated calmly.

Athos, wanting to deflect any more embarrassing comments, pulled the sheets of paper from his pocket and changed the subject. He looked at the names and handed the relevant list to the two men.

"These are the names of those directly involved in the fight earlier this afternoon," and he went on to explain what Porthos had discovered about the origin of the disturbance.

Richelieu's face darkened, his cheeks twitching as it was now confirmed that his men were responsible in instigating the fracas. They had, at least, admitted raiding the Musketeer kitchen area and throwing the first punches.

"I presume Grenouille was behind all this," he ground out. "We knew before you left this office that he was making trouble, spurring on any disquiet amongst the men."

"But once he knew of his Captain's death, he was quick to help restore order." Athos was not sure why, but he felt it necessary to defend the man.

"No matter," Richelieu was dismissive. "His behaviour was unacceptable and not for the first time. I admit that I expected Planque would deal with him, but he was weak and never seemed capable of bringing the man to order. No, I will make an example of Grenoiuille; he must be punished and before the day is out."

Athos shifted uncomfortably. It was more than not wanting to hear anyone speak ill of the dead; if anything, he feared what form of castigation the Cardinal would choose.

"Send some Musketeers to place him under guard."

"And you think that's going to improve relations between the men?" Tréville demanded.

"I am demonstrating that I currently have little or no trust in some of the men who serve me. If they are unable to follow my orders, they have only themselves to blame."

The Captain immediately saw a number of problems. "And so you would have the Musketeers presented as the villains of the piece, doing the unsavoury work for you."

"I would not have put it quite like that and I do not really understand why you are being so unreasonable but, if it makes you feel better, I will not expect a Musketeer to deliver the actual punishment."

"Not expect …!" Tréville bristled, unable to finish his sentence.

"What sanction are you contemplating?" Athos asked.

Richelieu's reply was pragmatic. "He can receive ten lashes before the regiment this evening and lose his rank forthwith."

Athos' heart sank. Grenouille was in the wrong, there was no doubt about that, but the Cardinal was in danger of greatly antagonising his men when he needed them to comply. If they were so easily influenced by Grenouille, then he must hold some sway over them, and this should be exploited positively. How might the Red Guard react when they saw him being treated like this?

"There is no need to send men after him in the first instance. Let me go and speak with him, try to persuade him to come back with me," Athos offered, hoping that the strange rapport that had sprung up between them earlier in the afternoon might stand him in good stead.

Richelieu stared hard at him as if contemplating something. It discomfited Athos and he glanced at Tréville for help,e but the Captain merely shrugged.

The silence continued.

"Cardinal?" the Captain prompted.

Richelieu rose to his feet and rearranged his flowing robe around him; it looked for all the world as if he were preparing to make a profound announcement.

He was.

"I have watched you for some time now, Musketeer Athos."

Athos suddenly felt sick at the unexpected formality and the fact that he could not recall the Cardinal ever addressing him by name before.

"Your Captain repeatedly speaks highly of you and your skills, and I have seen evidence on more than one occasion that substantiates the claim of his faith in you. You are far from perfect – I have seen that too – and there are aspects of your attitude that I find …" he sought an appropriate word, "annoying. Today I find myself in an invidious position. The King's safety is important above all else, but I am here at Versailles without any leadership for my regiment with neither the time nor the willingness to consider the matter for any length of time.

"So, with your Captain's agreement, I will second you to the position of Captain of the Red Guard. Only temporary, you understand, whilst we are here in the field. It is with immediate effect."


	90. Chapter 90

_**Well that was a turn-up for the books! What will Athos do about the 'job offer'?**_

_**Thank you for reading and reviewing. If any errors have slipped through here, my apologies.**_

CHAPTER 90

I

Athos was horrified and Tréville furious, but Richelieu was oblivious to all of that.

"You cannot simply purloin my lieutenant because it suits you," Tréville hissed. It had been a while since Athos had seen him so angry.

"You will, no doubt, wish to discuss it further and the impact this might have on the Musketeers, but you will see that it is the most sensible suggestion given the circumstances. Captain Athos has been involved at the highest level since all this began; he is privy to all the information surrounding the rebels' plot. It is fortuitous and prevents me from having to make a hurried decision as to Planque's successor and then making whoever it is cognisant of all that has brought us to this point. Think of it as a reward for the risks he has taken thus far on the King's behalf."

Athos' mouth dropped open in amazement, not least because the Cardinal was clearly not going to take 'no' for an answer and was already referring to him by his new rank, but he could not find the words to voice his objections. How could Richelieu view this as a reward? Tréville obviously had similar thoughts.

"Oh we _will _discuss it, I can assure you," and he strode towards the door. "Athos, with me!"

As Athos followed the man who commanded him, the man whom he would follow unquestioningly through the gates of hell itself, he felt the eyes of the other man who would command him boring into his back. How had this come about that the two powerful men were now in dispute over who should be deserving of his service and loyalty? Could he commit to both? No, he was Tréville's man.

In the space of a few hours, the whole situation at Versailles had descended to the level of a farce!

II

Allaire had convinced L'Hernault to walk with him in the grounds in front of the lodge. At first, L'Hernault had refused, preferring to remain in the other man's room but Allaire's reasoning had been very persuasive. It would appear more suspicious to hide away for there had been no witnesses to the Musketeer's death and the weapon was safely concealed for the time being.

L'Hernault had eventually agreed but they had been outside for little more than ten minutes when their way was blocked by three tall Musketeers, hands resting deceptively lightly upon their sword hilts.

"Gentlemen," Allaire greeted them lightly for he was trying not to show that he recognised the big, scowling soldier as the one who had followed him around the court and Paris for several days. In fact, he had seen all of them at the Palace. "We were just taking a turn in the fresh air and suddenly you bar our path. If you wouldn't mind stepping to one side, my friend and I would like to proceed on our way."

Did he imagine it or did the same big Musketeer just growl?

The soldiers were serious and clearly not in the mood for pleasantries; it was hardly surprising if they had learned of the death of one of their own.

"I am Aramis of the King's Musketeers," said one of them, introducing himself with a deceptively polite tone. "We would like you to accompany us to answer some questions," he explained, looking directly at L'Hernault.

"What could you possibly want with us?" Allaire insisted, deliberately misinterpreting the invitation and including himself.

"You misunderstand me, sir," Aramis said, turning his attention to Allaire. "We do not require _your_ presence … at the moment."

"Me? Why would you want to see me? Questions about what?" There was no hiding the sweat that suddenly beaded L'Hernault's brow.

"Yes, what is this about? What questions could you possibly have for my friend here?" Allaire decided that a strong display of unity was needed but then noted that he would have to stop emphasising the 'friend' aspect.

"We'd prefer to discuss this somewhere else," the big one stated.

The third soldier, quietly watching until now, added his comment. "We'll explain everything then."

Allaire could not account for what drove him to be obdurate at that point. "You will explain, sirs , right now as to what all this is about and why you should interrogate one of His Majesty's guests. The King will hear of this."

"You're right, 'e will," the big Musketeer agreed. "That's if 'e hasn't been told already. I dare say 'e won't be very 'appy when 'e finds out that the Captain of the Red Guard's been shot dead an' I shouldn't imagine the Cardinal's jumpin' for joy either."

III

In an uncharacteristic role reversal, Athos was pacing the floor repeatedly muttering, "No, no, no, no, no," whilst Tréville leaned, arms folded, against a table and watched him. They had appropriated the first empty room they had come across and the Musketeer Captain had slammed the door shut behind them. In the intervening minutes, he had calmed down considerably as he thought more about Richelieu's shock announcement.

"I did not anticipate that," he said eventually.

Athos stopped in the middle of the room. "It is out of the question, of course."

"And why would you think that?" Tréville asked quietly.

The younger man looked at him aghast. "Tell me you are not considering this proposal! There are plenty of reasons. Firstly, if I am not recovered enough to be a fully functioning Musketeer, I can hardly assume the mantle of Captain of a different regiment, especially one that hates any and all Musketeers. If food were enough to cause a brawl, then the news of my appointment should be tantamount to a full-scale riot! And what if this led me to a conflict of interest? No man can serve two masters. My loyalty is to you, not the Cardinal, and yet he would expect it of me."

Tréville pushed away from the table and moved to a chair, signalling to Athos to sit on another one across from him.

"I think you are creating obstacles." It was a mild reproof and when Athos tried to object, Tréville continued. "Richelieu gave me the ultimate authority over both regiments whilst we are in the field. Planque was resentful but he did reluctantly accept my leadership. I knew from the outset that he was not going to be an easy man in any negotiation. Yes, he passed on my instructions, but he did not monitor their application. Even I have seen a worrying laxity in the attitude of the Red Guard towards their duties and we have only been here for just over a day. Let's consider the major positive aspect here. I, for one, would much prefer to have someone in charge of them whom I trusted and with whom I know I could work."

Athos sighed, "You make it sound so easy."

Tréville offered a reassuring smile. "It is only temporary, Richelieu said as much, and I will keep him to it. Look upon it as valuable practice for a future, permanent command of your own." He laughed as Athos regarded him in alarm. "There's no need to worry; I have no plans for going anywhere any time soon."

"I am pleased to hear it." Athos was clearly relieved. "My mind is still filled with problems and questions about the practicality of all this; I am far from ready for such responsibility. It is not that long ago that you made me your lieutenant."

"And I regret that I did not do it a lot sooner. You must not under-estimate yourself. From what I have heard about today's events, you have conducted yourself well and demonstrated initiative and leadership; they would only be what I have come to expect from you. Don't even think of denying it!"

Athos' head dipped in embarrassment, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

"So," Tréville said decisively, getting to his feet and closely followed by Athos, "we'd better go back and tell Richelieu that we both agree to his suggestion. We will discuss your doubts after that. In the meantime, perhaps we should remove this," and, stepping forward, he reached out to unbuckle Athos' pauldron. "We have no desire to antagonise the Red Guard any more than is absolutely necessary."

"The second time in a month," Athos murmured, watching the Captain's fingers as they worked.

"I would prefer it if you refrained from making a habit of this," Tréville said, a note of mock irritation in his voice. He stepped back, holding the precious leather item in his hands. "Once again I seem to be looking after this on your behalf."

"But not for long," Athos reiterated.

"Not for long, son," Tréville repeated with the ghost of a smile. He held out a hand and the younger man took it. Clasping it, he shook it firmly. "Congratulations on your promotion, Captain Athos of the Red Guard. I look forward to working with you in this new capacity."

_**A/N**_

_**Well, you learn something new every day! I had not realised that the convention of the French farce was as early as this.**_

_**In the 14th century, the English adopted farce from Middle French with its original meaning of "forcemeat" or "stuffing." The comedic sense in English dates from the 16th century, when we imported the word again, to refer to a kind of knockabout comedy already popular in France.**_


	91. Chapter 91

_**Good afternoon, all.**_

_**Thank you for reading yesterday's chapter. There seems to be a problem on the site - again - with reviews not showing up but no doubt it'll be rectified at some point.**_

_**Meanwhile ...**_

CHAPTER 91

"It is good that you have seen sense and accepted my offer," Richelieu said when Athos and Tréville returned to his office.

"It is not without considerable misgivings," Athos admitted.

Tréville was eager to reassure the Cardinal. "But Athos and I will discuss how to alleviate those."

Richelieu stared at Athos' right shoulder and noted the absence of the pauldron; he nodded his approval.

"Naturally, there will need to be a formal announcement made to the Red Guard as to this change in leadership. It is not for me to go down to the camp to tell the men as I ought to visit His Majesty; I shall leave that to you, Tréville. You are in overall authority, after all, and the new Captain here was formerly your man. You will then carry out the punishment of Grenouille; look on this as being your first task." He directed this to Athos. "Ten lashes before dinner."

Athos took a deep breath. "No," and then he added, "Your Eminence."

Even Tréville's eyes widened in surprise at this open defiance.

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Athos' stomach. He had known that there would inevitably be a locking of horns at some point with the Cardinal but never expected it to come so soon. How long had he been the Captain? Mere minutes. As with the short investigation, this could be the shortest captaincy ever known. He held his breath, willing Tréville not to intervene as Richelieu bristled at the insubordination. Athos was completely on his own.

"I beg your pardon?" Richelieu's menacing delivery and expression had cowed many a weaker man, but Athos stood his ground.

"Your Eminence is a busy man. Would you have troubled yourself with the discipline of your Guards had Planque lived?"

"Not under normal circumstances, no, but this was _not_ normal. The man was dead," Richelieu countered.

"And you have made me his replacement; quite soon afterwards, I might add, therefore indicating that you consider me capable of the task. So I ask you to trust me in dealing with this matter in my own way." He hesitated. "There is the possibility, of course, that you are setting me up to fail in this position."

Richelieu was actually flustered, "No, no, not at all."

"Then there will be no whipping, public or otherwise."

Tréville chose that moment to succumb to a coughing fit and turned his back on the battling pair, ostensibly to pour himself a glass of wine to ease the irritation.

"I need to get these men on my side; we are going to need their co-operation and obedience and soon if Menier's petition is not well received by the King. I will not succeed in achieving that if I assume command and immediately mete out a heavy-handed punishment. I have learned from my Captain's example. I have deservedly been on the receiving end of his discipline in my time, but I have never known him give the order for a whip to be taken to a man."

In his peripheral vision, he saw Tréville compose himself and straighten, obviously listening to his words.

"There is no question that Grenouille was wrong in what he did," Athos continued. "To lose his rank and its associated pay will hurt, but it will be an example and a warning to the rest of the men."

The Cardinal considered his words. "What will you do for a second in command then?" he demanded, raising an eyebrow. "Give the position to one of your friends?"

"No," Athos declared and saw Tréville turn back to watch the exchange. "I would not deprive the Captain of good men at this time, nor is it advisable that I introduce an influx of Musketeers into your regiment. It is enough that I, a Musketeer, am now their captain." He paused and glanced apologetically at the two men. "And there is an additional problem. I confess that, in the past, I have been involved in certain altercations with some of these soldiers and their memories will be long. I have to be seen to be fair. Grenouille will continue to be my second, unofficially, for he will be without rank and remuneration, but I will make it clear from the outset to him and the rest of them that if he earns my trust, he will be fully reinstated."

"You would reward a ne'er-do-well?" Richelieu sputtered.

"No," Athos corrected him. "I would give a man a second chance and find out why he behaved the way he did. He has influence over the men, that much is evident; I would be foolish not to take advantage of that and turn it to my favour. However, should he disobey me or foment any other discord amongst the guard as a result of my appointment, he will find me neither tolerant nor forgiving."

Richelieu hesitated and then nodded his agreement. "You had better make that announcement, Tréville."

A sharp rap at the door sounded and the Cardinal called to whoever it was to enter.

Porthos and Aramis walked in and nodded in automatic deference towards the First Minister.

"We have L'Hernault and Allaire. We're holding them in separate rooms for questioning. D'Artagnan and some other Musketeers are watching them," Aramis reported.

"Why Allaire?" Tréville asked.

"They were together when we saw 'em. Allaire's got a lot to say for 'imself and seems to be doin' the talkin' for the other one too," Porthos took up the explanation.

"They may well have concocted some story together but L'Hernault's scared; that's clear enough from the way he's sweating. He may well give in easily to a little bit of pressure," Aramis added.

"How do you want to do this?" Tréville turned to Athos.

"Let's leave L'Hernault to sweat a little more. Allaire can wait as well; we'll question them later," Athos answered.

"'E's already shoutin' about how he's goin' to complain to the King," Porthos warned him.

"Good! If he's impatient, inconvenienced and more than a little angry, he might become reckless and unguarded in what he says."

"You think he'll make a mistake," Aramis said.

"We can hope so but, in the meantime, the Captain and I have something to do " Athos asserted before turning to Tréville. "We should be heading to the camp. Will you give me a few minutes to speak to Grenouille first?"

He was prevented from answering by the sharp-eyed Porthos.

"Any specific reason as to why you're not wearin' your pauldron and the Captain's got it in 'is 'hand?"

"Ah!" Tréville began, clapping Athos on the shoulder. "That's another of this afternoon's rapid developments. Gentlemen, allow me to present to you Captain Athos of the Cardinal's Red Guard!"


	92. Chapter 92

_**Greetings,**_

_**Thank you to all the readers and those who left comments, especially the 'Guests'. Thank you so much. Apologies in advance for any errors that might have slipped through. **_

_**So, Aramis and Porthos are not very happy!**_

CHAPTER 92

I

Aramis and Porthos managed to keep their comments to themselves until they had left Richelieu's office and then they erupted, their disbelief and objections coming thick and fast.

"What the 'eck do you think you're doing?"

"You've resigned your commission with the Musketeers?"

"What about us? What're we supposed to do?"

"So you honestly think the Red Guard are just going to meekly accept this new arrangement?"

"A Musketeer as Captain of the Red Guard? Never thought I'd see the day. You must've lost your bloomin' mind!"

"And you agreed with this, Captain?"

Tréville did not have the chance to offer any explanation before Aramis went on.

"Do I have to remind you that it is not so very long ago you were nearly killed, Athos? You have not fully recovered yet, and the stitches have yet to be removed? How do you propose to lead a regiment effectively?"

"An' just because we've got L'Hernault right now, it doesn't mean he 'asn't got someone else lined up to take over where 'e left off. Just 'ow are we supposed to watch your back now? I shouldn't rely on the Cardinal's guard if I were you!"

The tirade paused as both angry men drew breath.

Athos stood, hands on hips, watching them and allowing them to vent their wrath and concern.

"Have you two finished?" he asked quietly. "The Cardinal's proposal came as a surprise to me too, and the Captain."

Tréville nodded in agreement.

"It's only temporary whilst we are here at Versailles and facing the current problem with Menier. I know it is not going to be easy but there are advantages," Athos said.

"And we can work together without my having to explain everything afresh to a newcomer. It is possible that there is someone within the Red Guard whom he can trust but we are just on our way over there to see him and introduce Athos as Captain," Tréville continued.

"You want us to go along with you?" Porthos offered, his expression grim.

"I thank you but no," Athos answered. "This is something the Captain and I have to do. We do not anticipate taking long and then we will be back to question L'Hernault. Perhaps, in the meantime, you could get Allaire's story from him."

"With pleasure," Porthos growled and cracked his knuckles.

"Just questions," Tréville warned, "and nothing more. You understand?"

Reluctantly, Porthos and Aramis nodded.

II

Curious, Grenouille followed Athos away from the main group of Red Guard who were still at the camp. Tréville sat waiting to one side on an upturned box he had found and scrutinised the resentful soldiers.

"You come to tell me how the Cardinal's goin' to punish me?" he asked, warily.

"He ordered that you receive ten lashes and lose your rank and pay," Athos told him bluntly, watching the man's reaction to the news.

Grenouille did not object; he merely sighed. "I was expectin' worse, but it still comes as a blow. I know I deserve it, especially when that fight broke out."

"Did you start it?" Athos wondered if he would get an honest answer.

"No, I swear I didn't, but I know I was guilty of windin' 'em up. Some of 'em were at your store carts before I knew what they were up to. Of course your lot came out to defend the stuff but 'and on heart," and he made the gesture with his right hand," I don't know who threw the first punch. Stupidly, I joined in. It's that an' the fact I can't keep my big mouth shut 'as got me into trouble." He squared his shoulders. "I'll take my punishment."

Athos looked beyond him to the men he was now leading. "Why did you take against Planque? You never did tell me."

If Grenouille was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "He hadn't been a Red Guard long before the Cardinal made 'im up to Captain. It was right after that trouble you 'ad, when you were charged with all those things and imprisoned. When it turned out it was Red Guard that were behind it all, it sickened me, it did. That brought shame on all of us." He managed a half-hearted, embarrassed grin. "It's one thing to 'ave a fight with your lot after a few drinks but cuttin' a patrol down like that, settin' you up for things you never did …. It was all wrong an' I'm sorry. We're not all bad."

Athos' heart was racing. "And Planque?" he asked quietly, stunned by the man's admission and the totally unexpected apology.

"He was on the edge of that lot. Oh, he would've liked to 'ave been in the thick of it, I'm sure, but even they wouldn't 'ave him, not completely. There was somethin' about him that no-one liked. He was full of himself, looked down on most of us an' many of us thought money changed 'ands between 'is father an' the Cardinal for 'im to be made up to Captain that quick. He was never Captain material; he was weak an' didn't have a clue. 'E was just playin' at soldiers."

"So you thought to harass him?"

Grenouille's large, pale eyes studied Athos. "I did an' I'm not proud of it but 'is incompetence just made me mad."

"I am thinking that you are a career soldier."

The Red Guard nodded. "Only thing I've ever known."

"Did Planque make you his lieutenant?"

Grenouille huffed in sudden amusement. "No, it was actually Richelieu, same time as 'e appointed Planque. On account of what 'appened to you, there was a lot of unexpected vacancies, so the Cardinal said 'e was makin' some changes, only 'e called it 'restructurin'."

Athos could not suppress a smile. "You might have handled things differently."

"I know that now. So," he straightened, "when's this punishment 'appenin'?"

"It's not. Well, the physical one anyway."

Grenouille's jaw dropped in amazement. "I don't understand."

"It's simple really. When the Cardinal ordered me to deliver the lashing, I refused."

"Refused! But …"

"I could do nothing about the loss of rank or money in the first instance, but I believe I have thought of a suitable way around that if you prepared to help me," Athos told him.

"You? You did this? For me? But … why? Why would the Cardinal listen to you?" Grenouille was relieved but incredulous.

"Because he had just appointed me as the temporary Captain to the Red Guard. Do not worry, it is only while we are here at Versailles and then I can return to the Musketeers. Richelieu will then have to find a permanent replacement. Captain Tréville is here to inform you and your comrades about that decision."


	93. Chapter 93

_**Thank you for reading and reviewing the last chapter.**_

_**In this one, more trouble is brewing ...**_

CHAPTER 93

I

As anticipated, the Red Guard did not collectively receive the announcement of their new Captain with delight, but they did not burst into voluble objections or derision either.

"Let me speak to them alone, please," Grenouille offered.

Athos briefly considered the request and then nodded. "Very well. Captain Tréville and I have to return to the lodge to question the suspect about Planque's murder."

"You've got someone already?" the Red Guard's eyes widened.

"I try not to waste time," Athos said, his face serious, but then the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his dry humour. "It's a long story and perhaps, when the time is right, I will be in a position to make things clearer for you."

Grenouille had to be satisfied with that answer and, as he watched the two Captains cross the grass with their long strides in the direction of the lodge, he realised that he was just that – satisfied.

He was still trying to absorb what Athos had done for him and was prepared to do. The prospect of winning back his rank and money was something that he was eager to fulfil for he had not appreciated how much the position meant to him until the ignominious losing of it.

More than that, he had been telling the truth when he told Athos earlier that he liked him. Yes, he was a Musketeer but the ongoing disputes between the two regiments had become something of a legendary yet misguided pass-time. He had heard plenty about Athos and his friends, but had never had anything to do with him, although he had seen him from afar. He knew the stories about the man being partial to the drink but nothing about the Musketeer suggested the drunken sot so heatedly spoken of within the confines of the Cardinal's barracks. Quite the contrary.

In the few short hours that Grenoiulle had seen him operate, Athos had exuded calmness; an intense yet quiet authority that demanded he be heard and obeyed. He reacted to events as they happened but with a carefully thought-out response rather than in the desperation that would have characterised Planque. Already, he had shown himself to be hard but fair, and Grenouille knew he could not ask any more of a man who commanded him.

He was being given a chance to redeem himself, to restore his rank and reputation and he was going to seize that opportunity with both hands. There was something reassuring and trustworthy about the man and it did not take Grenouille long to make a decision.

He would serve as unofficial lieutenant to this young man.

Grenouille would serve him diligently and without question.

II

"What do we have?" asked Tréville as he and Athos met with the other three _Inseparables _outside the room where Allaire was being held.

"He claims he was too drunk last night to join the hunt this morning, so he remained in his room," Aramis reported. "His friend, L'Hernault, left the party during the picnic and came back to see how he was feeling. They remained together in the room until he was much recovered, and we met them when they decided to go for a walk."

"Kept sayin' they were only takin' the air an' we were behavin' monstrously towards 'em. He says 'e's goin' straight to the King as soon as we release 'im," Porthos added.

"Sounds like he protests a little too much," Tréville commented.

"I don't think he had anything to do with the murder itself," Aramis said. "It's more that he has become involved in the aftermath."

"Yeah. If I 'ear that L'Hernault's his 'good friend 'one more time, I won't be 'eld responsible for my actions," announced the big Musketeer.

Tréville raised an eyebrow. "Pressing home a vain point perhaps. What of L'Hernault?"

"Someone has been with him all the time but not speaking to him," d'Artagnan took up the details. "I stayed with him for a little while myself; I didn't think it a good idea to leave him alone."

"What made you say that?" Athos asked.

"I don't really know. I mean, on the face of it, he has probably just committed murder and he is unlucky enough to be the immediate suspect and held for questioning, but the man is terrified."

"An' you feel sorry for 'im? He was after Athos. It could've been your friend lyin' dead out there," Porthos said brusquely.

D'Artagnan was immediately on the defensive. "I'm not sorry for him, not in the least, but it's just that he is acting very strangely."

"In what way?" Tréville pressed as he and Athos exchanged rapid glances.

"Well," the Gascon was thinking how best to explain. "One minute he's belligerent, demanding to know why he's being kept locked in a room and complaining that he is being unfairly treated. Then he's almost desperate, saying he hasn't done anything, that there's been some kind of mistake."

"Nothin' unusual in declarin' your innocence. Most criminals do that!"

"I agree with you there, Porthos. It's only the denial we would expect, but it's the other things that are a worry. He seems to work himself up into a panic and then he starts crying and rocking in his seat, shaking his head and muttering all the time," d'Artagnan went on.

"What does he say? It is probably too much to hope that it is any kind of confession," said the Captain.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I can't hear most of it, his voice is so low but the little I have heard seems to be him apologising and saying he'll put it right given time. I'm sure he said 'Papa' too at some point; it's as if he's having a conversation but there's no-one there. He's certainly not talking to me. Anyway, then he suddenly recovers himself and we go through it all again."

"Do you think he's mad?" Aramis wondered, puzzled, and then he saw another look pass between the Captain and Athos. "Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" Athos asked.

"You and the Captain, looking at each other as if you know something. That's the second time you've done that in as many minutes."

Tréville sighed, hating that their exchange had been noted. "We have received information that L'Hernault has the propensity to be a very unstable person."

"And where did you hear that?" Aramis persisted.

"It doesn't matter," Tréville said, brushing the question aside. "Suffice it to say, it comes from a reliable source."

"More secrets," Porthos growled, not making any attempt to conceal his ire.

"What?" Tréville retorted.

Porthos glared at Athos as he answered, but it was clear that his grievance was directed at both men. "Somethin' else you're not tellin' us."

"Not know," Aramis urged, taking his arm.

"Yes, now!" Porthos argued, shaking him off. "Ever since this trouble with the nobles began, you've kept things from us, both of you, an' I'm tired of it. You just tell us what you think we ought to know, enough to keep us 'appy. Now, I might be 'appy with that if it weren't for the fact that I'm supposed to watch your back, Athos. An' you know I would if it cost me my dyin' breath, but you're not tellin' us what this is all about. You were spyin' on the nobles an' L'Hernault recognised you as a Musketeer an' he wanted you dead so you couldn't bring the information back to Paris. He nearly succeeded but you got back and brought that list so why is he still intent on killin' you? There's somethin' more goin' on, isn't there? An' now you're Captain of the Red Guard. I'm sorry, but that just isn't right. That's not how it should be. He may've got someone else to 'ave a go at you so how're we supposed to protect you now, huh? Tell me that!" His voice sounded choked and he turned away to head for the nearest exit.

D'Artagnan reached for him.

"No, let me be. My duty must've been over at least an hour ago. I'm goin' back to the camp."

"Porthos!" Athos called after him but was ignored. The lonely figure walked on.

"Leave him," Aramis said sadly. "I'll talk to him. He's tired, probably hungry and he's worried about you, Athos; we all are. Think about what he's just said …. Because he's right. Captain, if you can do without me, I think my duty's also over."

Without waiting for an answer, he, too, turned and walked off. D'Artagnan gave an apologetic nod and followed him.

Athos watched them go, his face a picture of warring emotions.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he looked at Tréville and saw the man's concern at the sudden tension between them. That, added to the day's events and the realisation that his brothers were hurting because of him, were enough to break him.

One more deep breath and the mask was in place.

"I suggest we leave L'Hernault a little longer and see Allaire first," Athos said, his tone devoid of intonation as he walked towards the room where the nobleman waited.


	94. Chapter 94

**_Greetings, all, and thank you for reading and reviewing._**

**_Oh dear, there is discord amongst the brothers. Porthos' view is understandable but how or when might things be resolved? We won't be seeing it in this chapter! A slightly longer one today._**

CHAPTER 94

"Captain Tréville! The voice of reason at last," Allaire greeted effusively as the Musketeer entered the room, closely followed by Athos.

"Sit down, please," Tréville ordered, indicating a seat at a table.

"Only if you'll join me," the noble insisted as he settled himself.

"Thank you, but we prefer to stand," was the clipped response. "This is Athos, my lieutenant and currently on a temporary secondment to the Red Guard?"

"Athos?" Allaire's joviality faltered.

"You've heard of me?" the young man asked casually.

"I .. I must have heard your name at court," Allaire said quickly, trying to cover up his slip.

"Interesting that the courtiers have so little to occupy them that they begin gossiping about individual members of the King's guard, don't you think, Athos?" There was no levity in the Captain's tone nor in his expression.

"Very interesting," Athos concurred. "I hope they were not saying anything bad about me."

"I'm sure it must have been related to something heroic you'd done recently. Everyone knows the Musketeers are heroes, don't they?"

"It would be nice to believe that everyone thought that but, sadly, it is not true, is it, Athos?" Tréville began slowly pacing around the room, Allaire's head turning as his eyes warily followed the man's progress.

"No, Captain," and Athos, arms folded, leaned against the wall in apparent indifference but his green eyes were fixed upon Allaire. The two Musketeers had decided outside the room that Tréville would take the lead in the interrogation.

"No, it's not," Tréville went on. "There are those who would prefer to see my Musketeers dead for some reason best known to themselves, and would go to any lengths to achieve that. Wouldn't they, Athos?"

"Yes, they would, Captain."

Suddenly, Tréville stopped and slammed the flat of his hand down on the tabletop so that Allaire visibly jumped. "Like L'Hernault, for example."

"You don't know that for certain," Allaire interjected.

"Oh, but you see, we do. Fact number one, we know that he wants Athos dead; I'm assuming L'Hernault told you he recognised Athos as a Musketeer. Fact number two, it goes beyond him attending the meeting at Troyes, but you do not need to know the finer details. Now, I do not take kindly to any of my men being set upon and left for dead and I certainly do not appreciate a second attempt. Fact number three, L'Hernault left the hunt early and came back here; two more of my men followed him. You've already met them; they brought you here."

There was the slightest flicker in Allaire's eyes as he assimilated this information. Tréville knew from previous experience that the man was now probably evaluating his situation, wondering at the extent of what the Musketeers knew and considering what he should do now in his best interests.

"Fact number four, L'Hernault entered a side door into the lodge, passing a number of Red Guards who saw him. Here's where it gets really interesting. Shortly after, one of the Guards realised that his pistol, which had been placed on the table behind him, was missing."

"Perhaps he made a mistake and left it somewhere else, Captain?" Athos suggested, guessing that Allaire might be considering the weak option.

Tréville shook his head. "Impossible, he had only just cleaned it. Good to hear that a soldier was taking such care of his weapon."

"Then perhaps another of the Guard misappropriated it?"

Now Tréville tut-tutted. "What an idea, Athos, that a soldier would steal the vital equipment belonging to one of his comrades-in-arms and in front of so many of their colleagues!"

"Then who could have taken it, I wonder?" Athos said, his stare still unwavering so that Allaire shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I can only think of one person," Tréville said, his hand still on the table so that he loomed over the nobleman. His comments were directed at Athos but he, too, kept his eyes on Allaire. "L'Hernault was the only one who went past, and he took it. He was prepared to seize any chance, just as he did a little while later when he saw Athos walking with the Captain of the Red Guard. He intended to shoot Athos dead, but hit and killed Planque instead. He had both motive and opportunity."

"You are guessing!" Allaire swallowed hard.

"Am I?" Tréville's voice hardened. "So he came to you for help and you concocted this story between you that you had been together all the time. I've no doubt you were suffering from a hangover this morning having drunk too much last evening; it would be easy to verify from servants as to how frequently your glass was refilled. That, however, is where the truth ends."

Allaire seemed about to object but Tréville raised a finger to silence him. "Let me make things perfectly clear to you. You are in an untenable position, Allaire, if you persist in this ridiculous alibi. L'Hernault made a second attempt on the life of Athos and murdered an innocent man, the Captain of Richelieu's Guard. Need I add that the Cardinal is very angry about this? We _will _break L'Hernault; he _will _confess to his crime. It is not a matter of 'if', only 'when'. You did not pull the trigger, but you will be held guilty by association and you _will _suffer the consequences unless you desist in your story. There are things Captain Athos and I need to discuss so we will leave you alone for a few minutes to think about what I have said, but I would strongly suggest that you help yourself and start co-operating."

They left the room and closed the door on the now sombre Allaire.

"We'll leave him for a few minutes to re-assess his position," Tréville decided.

"We can hold him for treason; we could have brought more pressure to bear by telling him that as well," Athos pointed out.

Tréville shook his head. "We need to get to tomorrow's meeting between the King and Menier before we reveal our hand. Gaston is going to be unhappy enough when he realises that we have arrested his men. He can do nothing about L'Hernault for the man is a murderer, but Allaire is a different matter. If he gives us the information against L'Hernault that we can use, he will have done what we wanted, and we will have to release him."

"We could set another watch on him," Athos suggested.

"It's a possibility but we can leave our options open. If he remains at Versailles, we arrest him later and charge him with treason. If he runs, well, where can he go? He is finished at court whatever happens now. There is also the option that we merely ignore him for we have bigger fish to fry."

"Gaston, you mean?"

"Exactly. Now, let's see if he has come to his senses," and Tréville led the way back into the room.

"Are you prepared to assist us?" the Captain demanded.

Gone was Allaire's earlier bombast; the man seemed deflated in mood and physique as he slumped at the table. His voice was little more than a whisper when he spoke. "You wold help me?"

"If you were to assist us now in our enquiries, it might go in your favour; something might be negotiated, but I cannot promise anything. That would depend upon the mercy of the King himself."

"You have nothing to lose but the possibility of gaining much," Athos added. "Do you really have such loyalty to L'Hernault."

"No!" Allaire's answer was immediate. His gaze flitted from one to the other of the men. "L'Hernault killed Planque but he thought it was you." He looked at Athos. "He told me as much and also admitted the first attempt on your life. I wondered why he tried again, and he said Gaston had ordered it."

Neither Tréville nor Athos expected to hear this. Was Gaston now another one intent upon disposing of Athos?

"Perhaps he was trying to give you a feasible excuse," Tréville offered, unsure whether to believe the comment about the King's brother.

"Perhaps," Allaire agreed, "although he said the Duc was furious that you had lived to bring back the information and that the plot was compromised."

With L'Hernault incarcerated - for he would never regain his liberty now – would Gaston persist in pursuing Athos? This was not something either of the officers had contemplated.

"There's more," Allaire continued. "I have the weapon that was used, the one stolen from the Red Guard. L'Hernault gave it to me when I offered to dispose of it on his behalf. It is locked in a box in my room."

_**A/N**_

_**Another interesting (well, it is to me anyway) snippet when I considered using a familiar expression:**_

_**John Evelyn wrote in his 'Memoirs' of 1660, '**__**fear**__** he **__**has**__**other**__**fish**__** to **__**fry.' This**__**term**__**also**__**appeared**__** in an **__**early**__**translation**__** of **__**Rabelais's**__**Pantagruel**__**(1552)**__** by **__**Motteux,**__**but**__** it **__**did**__**not**__**seem**__** to **__**catch**__** on **__**until**__**later**__**.**_


	95. Chapter 95

_**Greetings, all,**_

_**Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing. Sorry to be a bit later today but I am having a writing free day; I'm not tackling any projects.**_

_**Anyway, today, three brothers are discussing their fourth!**_

CHAPTER 95

Porthos was consumed with barely suppressed anger as he strode away from the lodge. He could hear Aramis and d'Artagnan shouting after him, but he elected to ignore them, remaining focused on the camp ahead as his friends ran to catch up with him and flanked him.

"Stop!" Aramis ordered. "We need to talk about this."

But Porthos showed no indication of slowing. "Nothin' to talk about."

Aramis grabbed Porthos by the arm and dug his heels into the ground, nearly losing his footing when the big man suddenly halted.

"They're not bein' honest with us," he growled, referring to Athos and Tréville.

"I know that," Aramis agreed, "and it has to centre around Athos and his past."

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

"We've known him for five years and he still refuses to talk about anything much from the time before he was a Musketeer. We only know there was a woman in his life and that she died because he let it slip one night when he was drunk. We've long suspected he comes from money because of how he conducts himself and the little he revealed when we were on our way to Ré.* Agreed?"

Porthos thought carefully before answering. "Agreed."

D'Artagnan only knew of the woman because they had told him the evening of the day when Athos had so nearly been executed and he was ignorant of the other revelation that Aramis mentioned. He realised, though, that now was not the time to ask, so he merely nodded his accord.

"We've also presumed that Tréville knows more of Athos' past than we do. How much more is debatable, but we've always accepted that. How often have we said that as long as he's talking to the Captain, at least he's talking to someone, and that's given us some peace. How often?" Aramis pressed.

"Too many times to count," admitted Porthos eventually.

"Yes, and I believe now is another one of those times. He was sent to infiltrate the nobles. Why him? Easy. We all knew it and even d'Artagnan said it – because he could pass as a nobleman. And why's that? Because he is what we have long supposed."

"A nobleman," d'Artagnan said for clarification.

"Exactly. We still have no way of knowing what his background is, who his family are, what their rank is within the aristocracy or how he's ended up as a Musketeer, but I would hazard a guess that he went to the meeting of the nobles and another one, L'Hernault, recognised him, not as a Musketeer – I know that's the story both Athos and Tréville are maintaining – but I think L'Hernault knew who he was."

"But why would L'Hernault want him dead?" Porthos asked.

"I doubt Athos would have gone under his own name, he would have assumed an identity and L'Hernault saw through the deception."

"Still doesn't explain why he wanted to kill 'im, not just once but twice," Porthos said, mulling over what Aramis was proposing.

"No, which makes me think even more that it is to do with the past and nothing to do with spying."

"But why keep silent about being a nobleman?" d'Artagnan asked. "There are many Musketeers who are the sons of nobles."

"He has his reasons, although I can't think what they might be. Maybe he's a younger son or was disowned or something," Aramis offered.

"'E'd 'ave to 'ave done somethin' really bad to be disowned. Maybe 'e thinks we won't want to be 'is friend anymore if we find out what it was."

"He certainly carries a lot of guilt," Aramis conceded.

"But that'd never make me want to cut 'im off as my brother. I never knew 'im before; all I'm thinkin' of is the man I know now an' 'e's so full of honour an' loyalty an' duty, I could never imagine 'im doing anythin' bad enough that'd lead to 'im bein' thrown out of 'is family."

"Me neither," d'Artagnan asserted.

"I agree with both of you," Aramis said. "Such an idea has no credence."

"An' if the Captain knew of anythin' like that, would he 'ave promoted Athos?" Porthos pressed home his point.

"So all this adds more to the enigma that is our brother, but we have chosen to accept him as he is with all his faults - "

"An' 'e 'as plenty of those," Porthos interrupted but he was being serious, not flippant.

"And we accept him," Aramis repeated, "and his need to keep his own counsel on things. It would be a very sad world if we were all the same, so it begs the question, Porthos, why have you let yourself get so upset about his silence this time?"

Porthos paused, organising his thoughts. "He's our brother an' he'd do anythin' to support us and look out for us, but I want to be able to look out for 'im too. That's what we've been tryin' to do an' yet there's been a second attempt on 'is life an' we weren't there. Does it end with this L'Hernault now we've got 'im locked up or will there be more? An' now 'e's in charge of the Red Guard an' the thought of that makes my blood run cold."

"Getting angry about the situation does not change it, nor does it help Athos," Aramis pointed out gently.

Porthos' shoulders slumped. "You're right. It's just that I feel so 'elpless."

D'Artagnan laid a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

"Athos is a big boy now, he can take care of himself," Aramis quipped, trying to lighten the tension before he added, "most of the time!"

"I know, but it's those other times that are worryin' me. Seems like 'e keeps runnin' into 'em at the moment." Porthos puffed out his cheeks in frustration and then he frowned, his gaze on something behind his two friends.

"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked and turned around to see what it was that had caught the big man's attention.

It was an even bigger man heading straight for them.

"Grenouille," Porthos muttered through gritted teeth; his hands balled into clenched fists.

"Who?" d'Artagnan was confused, not having seen the man before.

"The second in the Red Guard and a trouble-maker," Aramis quickly explained. "What does he want?"

"You're the Captain's close friends, aren't you?" Grenouille said as he approached them, and he flashed a lop-sided, disarming smile.

The three brothers were taken aback as they had been expecting provocation after the afternoon's events but there was nothing confrontational about the man's demeanour.

"I wouldn't describe Captain Tréville as a close friend," Aramis said warily. The _Inseparables _might be privileged to have something of a different relationship privately with their commanding officer than experienced by the majority of the regiment, but he was not about to go into explanations with the Cardinal's guard.

Now it was Grenouille's turn to look bemused. "No, no, I meant Captain Athos. I've heard of you four an' seen you in the taverns in Paris."

"Captain Athos! That's going to take some getting used to," d'Artagnan said with a grin, but the other two were more cautious.

"What of it?" Porthos demanded.

"Nothin'. I just wanted to say you're lucky to have such a friend. He's a good man an' we're fortunate to have 'im in charge at the moment, though not all of 'em might see it that way. I look forward to workin' with 'im!"


	96. Chapter 96

**_Afternoon, all. Many thanks for reading and reviewing. Apologies for any errors that might have crept through here._**

**_So, the encounter with Grenouille continues._**

CHAPTER 96

I

"Am I hearin' this right?" Porthos was incredulous. "A Red Guard who isn't insultin' a Musketeer?"

"I know you prob'ly don't believe me, but he's already shown me that he's fair an' I'm ready to trust 'im. There aren't many men I've been able to say that about in my lifetime," Grenouille explained, his face and tone taking on an infinite sadness.

Aramis felt a sudden surge of pity for the man. His appearance would have repelled many before they took the time to get to know him properly, but he had a presence about him; they had seen evidence of it that day. "You have the attention of your peers though."

"Oh that!" Grenouille was dismissive. "I've got where I am because of my strength. I can throw a solid punch an' I can shout loudest."

"That's as maybe," Aramis agreed, "but men will only follow you so far out of fear and you can be as loud as you want, but if what comes out of your mouth makes no sense, men will soon stop listening."

Grenouille frowned as he thought hard about what Aramis had just said. Then his face split into the wide grin of acceptance that they had already seen. "That's deep, that is. I bet that's the kind of thing the Captain'd say. I can see why you're friends with him. Maybe we've misjudged your lot all these years."

It was Aramis' turn to grin broadly. "Steady on now. This is all happening very quickly; I can't envisage an immediate all-out truce between the regiments, even though it's be nice. Who'd be prepared to step in to fight with us on a Saturday night or foolish enough to join a card game with Porthos here? No, there are good and bad Musketeers, the same as there are good and bad Red Guard."

"Can we take it you're one of the good ones?" d'Artagnan dared to ask.

The giant guffawed at the question; it was a deep belly-laugh, genuine and heart-felt. The three Musketeers smiled warmly at his amusement.

"I'm tryin' to be a good one and, thanks to your friend, I'm bein' given the chance to make it so. I've 'ad a strong word with a lot of the others. They're suspicious an' resentful that a Musketeer's in charge but I've told 'em to give 'im a chance. 'E's different somehow. If any of 'em dare to give 'im any trouble, they've got me to answer to an' no mistake."

"You'd look out for him?" Aramis had to ascertain that he was hearing things properly.

"Too right," Grenouille declared.

The three Musketeers exchanged glances of hope, the same thought striking them simultaneously. In a decision born of helplessness and near-desperation, they were prepared to put all of their trust in a man they barely knew; someone who had a reputation as a troublemaker and who was a member of the Red Guard.

"Then we'd like you to do something' for us," Porthos began.

Between them, they gave him a truncated version of the risk Athos had taken on his fact-finding mission that had provided vital information for their present situation in Versailles; that when he was overdue, they had searched for him and found him near death, adding that he was, in effect, still recovering.

Grenouille gasped in astonishment. "It's incredible that 'e's up an' doin' what 'e's doin' then!"

"He is known to …. push himself beyond what is advisable," Aramis said tactfully.

"An' then there was a second attempt," Porthos began. "The bullet that killed your Captain was meant for 'im."

They watched as Grenouille absorbed the news, his anger visible. "Captain Athos said 'e knew who did it."

"Yes, and we have apprehended him. Athos and Captain Tréville are questioning him as we speak," d'Artagnan informed him.

"But there may be others intent on causing harm," Aramis picked up their tale. "We have no way of knowing and now that he has been seconded to your regiment, we can no longer protect him."

"Don't you worry," Grenouille asserted. "I've got 'is back. No-one'll get near 'im without my knowin'. I'd best go an' find 'im anyway; 'e wanted me to get some information for 'im an' I 'ave it 'ere."

"Thank you," Aramis said, meaning it.

Grenouille nodded and walked off towards the lodge, whistling happily as he went.

"Did that just 'appen?" Porthos asked.

"Which bit of it?" d'Artagnan asked. The pair looked after the departing lieutenant in amazement.

"'Ow about the bit where we seem to 'ave become friendly with one of the Cardinal's men?"

"And the bit where we untrusted the safety of our brother into his keeping," Aramis added.

II

Allaire had handed over the key that he wore around his neck and Athos and Tréville left him to go to the nobleman's room to retrieve the pistol.

"Before we get the pistol, may I suggest something?" Tréville said.

Athos looked at him quizzically.

In answer, the Captain gestured towards the young man's face and doublet. "You might want to clean up properly; it is a little disconcerting."

"I did try my best, but it was in a hurry and without water," Athos explained. "I presume I am still wearing blood and brains?"

"I was wondering how best to broach it," admitted Tréville. "You need somewhere with a mirror."

Ten minutes later they were letting themselves into Allaire's room. Athos' face was pink from the scrubbing he had given himself and his wet leathers glistened where he had rubbed at the surface. It was not perfect, but he looked and felt cleaner.

The pistol was where Allaire said it would be and the Musketeer Captain inspected it closely.

"It's been fired and not cleaned," he announced.

"We have him," Athos declared softly, meaning L'Hernault.

"There is no escaping this," Tréville went on. "We had best go and question him; see what he has to say for himself."

"You took Allaire; let me lead this one."

Tréville eyed the younger man carefully. "Agreed but I will remain in the room with you."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "You do not trust me; you think that I will let emotion overwhelm me and that I might do him some harm. "

"Not at all," Tréville replied quickly, "but I will be there as observer and listener. If he is apparently becoming more unstable, I want to ensure that he has no means of levelling any unfounded accusations against you, nor will I give him leeway to misinterpret your words. You confided in me about what happened in the past and said that you wanted your chance to talk with L'Hernault, to try to reach him. This is that opportunity, but I would hear what he has to say for himself. There is the additional advantage that after this meeting - when you relive it again and again, as I know you will - I can remind you of what actually transpired between the two of you."

Athos managed a slight smile. "You know me too well."

"There's another tip for you; a good leader does his best to get to know his men as well as he can."

"Hopefully, I won't be commanding the Red Guard long enough to put that tip into practice."

"You're not doing too badly with Grenouille," Tréville pointed out.

"He is only one man,"Athos said.

"A significant one though. You recognised his strengths and thought how best to use them to help you." Tréville could not suppress a broad smile. "And I loved how you informed Richelieu of the man's usefulness. I will never forget the look on the Cardinal's face when you refused to give Grenouille a lashing."

"I thought my Captaincy was over there and then," Athos admitted, the corners of his mouth lifting at the memory.

"I think he may have developed a grudging respect for you but take my advice; he remains a very dangerous man and will turn against you at the slightest provocation and without warning if it suits his purpose."

"I will never forget it," Athos acknowledged before adding quietly, "Thank you."

The gratitude he expressed was for so much more than the piece of advice and both men knew it.

Tréville broke the moment. "Come on then. Let's go and see L'Hernault."

"At least with him in custody, there is no risk of a repetition of the final confrontation that was between his father and mine," Athos said as they left Allaire's room and headed down the main staircase.

"That is definitely a welcome development," Tréville said.

He could not, however, dispel the niggling doubt that had started with Athos' last comment and had intensified by the time they reached the door to the room where L'Hernault was being held.


	97. Chapter 97

_**Thank you for reading and reviewing.**_

_**I have been looking forward to uploading this chapter for days! Enough said.**_

CHAPTER 97

L'Hernault leaped to his feet in shock as the door opened and he saw who was entering. The Musketeer guarding him hurriedly stepped forward, pistol in his hand, but Athos waved him back.

"You may leave us but please wait outside," he instructed and the soldier, standing to one side until Tréville had cleared the doorway, duly left them, closing the door quietly behind him.

Athos and L'Hernault stood on either side of a table, studying each other carefully. This was the closest they had been to each other for more years than Athos cared to remember.

"This is Captain Tréville," Athos introduced the officer who had taken a seat in the corner of the room.

L'Hernault said nothing, his expression guarded as his eyes never left Athos' face.

"Sit down," Athos ordered, waiting until L'Hernault had complied before he lowered himself onto another chair, steeling himself not to wince at the movement. When was the damned wound ever going to heal properly?

Silence and tension pervaded the room as the two young men exchanged hostile stares, weighing up the other man as Tréville sat perfectly still, waiting, and observing their body language. His hand was close to the hilt of the sword at his side, prepared to intervene if necessary.

"You expected me to be dead," Athos said, breaking the silence but keeping his tone neutral. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but you have failed twice now."

"I don't know what you mean," L'Hernault said, feigning innocence.

With great self-control, Athos leaned forward and was satisfied when the prisoner sat back in his chair, keen to maintain distance between them. "Let us stop wasting time. I will tell you what I know, and you can add anything that I may have omitted."

L'Hernault did not react.

"You killed Captain Planque, the Cardinal's man. We have many eye-witness accounts from members of the Red Guard and the stable boy that state you entered the lodge via a side door. As you walked past one soldier, you stole his pistol and used it to kill the wrong man."

"I admit that I used the side door. What of it?" L'Hernault had become surly. "Yes, I saw the pistol lying on the table behind the Red Guard but it was still there when I entered the building."

"I do not think so," Athos replied. "None of the guards would need to steal a weapon from their colleague and no-one else used that door for they were all at the hunt picnic."

"You have no proof. It is their word against mine."

"There are considerably more of them."

L'Hernault shrugged, his expression now one of contempt and Athos recognised it for what it was. He had beheld it often enough and it was just another reason why he had disassociated himself from the French nobility.

"Their word counts for nothing just because they are soldiers?" he asked quietly.

"I would expect you to believe them over me," L'Hernault sneered, "now that you have thrown in your lot with them and become a common soldier yourself."

Athos sensed Tréville stiffen at the offence, but he did not look in the man's direction, nor did he let himself be goaded.

"So you and Allaire concocted this story between you. It is pointless your maintaining this charade. Allaire has told us how you went to him and admitted what you had done, although you believed at the time that the corpse was mine. He provided you with the false alibi, about how you had gone to see if he had recovered from his hangover. At that point you still had the weapon on you, and he offered to dispose of it on your behalf. He locked it in a box that he kept under the bed. Captain," he added.

He continued to watch L'Hernault who had turned his head at the Captain's movement. Tréville reached behind him and withdrew the murder weapon which he had tucked into the back of his belt to conceal it.

L'Hernault looked briefy at the weapon being held out to him. "I have never seen it before. It must belong to Allaire." He was attempting to sound bored, but he had broken out into a sweat.

"No," Athos continued, "his clean weapon was lying in the compartment above it. This is not one of a pair which you might expect to find in such a box. This has been fired. You would never have had the time to clean it before concealing it."

"Then the soldier must have fired it. He is a soldier after all. Perhaps he was practicing or whatever it is that you lot do." There was an edge creeping into L'Hernault's assertions now.

"The soldier had just cleaned it and he had plenty of witnesses to that effect."

L'Hernailt frowned as he struggled to think of a suitable riposte.

Athos tried a different strategy and softened his voice so that he sounded regretful. "Stop telling lies, Etienne. We might have considered that the perpetrator was Allaire had it not been for the three men you sent after me when I left Troyes."

"I don't know what you are talking about." The denial sounded desperate now.

"Of course you do. You recognised me and knew I was there under an assumed name. It possibly occurred to you that I was there as a spy and it gave you the excuse to have me killed, but you had deeper motives than that. You were as surprised to see me as I was you. You thought, perhaps, that I had died during the years my whereabouts were unknown and then, all of a sudden, there I was, and all that hatred reared its ugly head again. Now you had a chance to exact your revenge and so you sent your three lackeys after me. Don't deny it. As they attacked me, they referred to you by name."

L'Hernault's eyes widened. "What happened to them?"

"I am surprised that you are so concerned," Athos said. "I shot one and killed the other two with my sword but not before one gave me a grievous wound, so you nearly succeeded. You are guilty and there is no point in denying it."

L'Hernault glanced sideways at Tréville. "Does your captain know what he has taken into the regiment? What and who you are?" he spat out.

Athos felt sick to the pit of his stomach, unsure as to how much L'Hernault had learned of events at Pinon for the Baron's estate was close enough to have heard the story of the murder of the Comte's younger brother and the hanging of the Comtesse. How much might L'Hernault be on the verge of revealing? These details were amongst the things that Athos still wanted to keep back from his Captain and brothers for reasons best known to himself.

He rested his clenched hands on the tabletop, hoping that neither of the other two men could detect the tremor. He felt Tréville watching him but dare not meet his eyes.

"Yes, Captain Tréville knows that I am the Comte de la Fère, although that is not the name I go by now. I am simply Musketeer Athos and I prefer it that way."

"You walked away from everything!"

Athos was uncomfortable. How had the interrogation changed so that he was the one facing accusations now? He had to regain control and quickly.

"I had my reasons."

L'Hernault's words, the result of many years of festering jealousy and bitterness, tumbled out in a rush. "If you were giving up your title, you could have passed it to me. You obviously had no offspring and your brother was dead. All that land, the title, the responsibility. It should have come to me.

"And why would l do that?" Athos feared the answer, but he needed to hear from L'Hernault's own lips that the old story was still fervently believed.

"I deserved it as your half-brother!" L'Hernault's cry sounded as if it were being torn from him.

A chair crashed to the floor.

Athos was on his feet, his face burning as he appeared to tower over L'Hernault. Tréville stood as well, ready to restrain the younger soldier.

"You are _not_ my half-brother. You have been fed nothing but untruths over the years."

"You lie!" L'Hernault yelled up at him, hands balled into fists as he pushed his chair back, ready to rise.

"A fanciful notion because your father was spurned in love and he was jealous. My mother _never _swore her love to your father and there was no affair. My parents loved each other truly from the start until death separated them. Even then, my father did not want to live without her and followed her before his time. This story you spew forth is just that – a story – begun by your father, perpetuated by your aunt and continued by you."

"Liar!" L'Hernault screamed, leaping to his feet. Only the table stood between the two young men.

"Gentlemen!" Tréville warned as he moved closer.

"Why do you refuse to acknowledge me?"

"Why?" Athos' voice, incredulous, rose at last. "There is nothing to acknowledge!"

L'Hernault was becoming more agitated, more desperate by the second, his unrealistic pleas pathetic. "We could have done so much together. We could have been devoted brothers if only you had recognised me. We would have got on so well; we could have been so close if only you had given me the chance, it would have been better than you and Thomas."

The last words were barely out of L'Hernault's mouth when the table was upturned.

For his age, Tréville was quick to move as he threw himself at Athos.

**A/N**

**I love words!**

**Lackey is a direct borrowing into English from the medieval French word laquais, which referred to a kind of foot soldier in the 15th century, prior to the word being taken into English when it had another meaning: "footman." A footman in the 16th century was a servant who either attended a rider, or who ran alongside or in front of his master's or mistress's carriage. They watched for and cleared obstacles in the road, so the carriage didn't overturn, and sometimes ran ahead to prepare the destination for their master or mistress. The footman's job was hard work: in fact, they were often called running footmen to underscore their main task.**


	98. Chapter 98

**_Afternoon! Hope this finds you and loved ones well. Thank you for reading and responding._**

**_So, Athos and L'Hernault Part Two!_**

CHAPTER 98

Tréville slammed the younger man against the wall and knew, from Athos' cry, the impact had hurt his side but perhaps the pain would bring him to his senses.

With his full weight and one arm across Athos' chest to hold him in place, Tréville twisted so that he could see L'Hernault edging towards the door.

"Don't even think it!" the Captain roared, and the prisoner froze. "Either of you," he added quietly, feeling Athos shaking against him in barely contained rage and waiting until Athos had regulated his tortured breathing and dared to open his eyes.

"Enough," Tréville said to him, still keeping his voice low. He knew the moment the tension drained away from the younger man.

Athos jerked his head in submission, green eyes filled with shame.

"You may release me," he whispered.

As the Captain lowered his arm and stepped away from him, Athos pulled on his doublet to straighten it and swallowed hard, trying to ignore the agony that had erupted in his side. His mind was racing, different emotions battling for supremacy, but the three that were definitely in the forefront were a sense of sick helplessness, self-doubt and even self-loathing.

Tréville righted the table and indicated the chairs.

"Sit," he commanded and both men complied, picking up their chairs, setting them at the table once more, and sitting down.

"Never talk of my brother like that again," Athos warned. His voice was again low, the words clipped and carefully enunciated. They were signs best known to Tréville that he was far from calm and, subsequently, still at his most dangerous.

"Why do you persist in denying the truth?" L'Hernault whined, still visibly shaken by the Musketeer's eruption.

"I might ask the same thing of you."

"My father told me what happened, how you were his."

"He lied," Athos said flatly. "I have said before and I will say it again. My mother did not love your father. There was no affair. We are not related."

"You cannot prove that you are not my brother," L'Hernault persisted.

"And you cannot prove that I am!" Athos shot back.

"Your father killed mine because he could not face the truth!" the Baron was beginning to sound desperate again.

"My father killed yours in self-defence when he was trying to protect and preserve the reputation of his wife, _my _mother."

"Your father has twisted the tale in his favour."

"Why would he do that when he told me the truth, a truth corroborated by my mother when I asked her about it?" Athos demanded.

L'Hernault had the audacity to laugh. "Because she was scared of him and the hold that he had over her. She had to agree with him; she dare not say otherwise. Your father, Olivier, could be a hard man; you of all people knew that."

"What do you mean?" the words were uttered through clenched teeth.

"Oh come on. Stop trying to play the dutiful son! You gave up that role when you gave up your estate and title. Thomas was the favourite, wasn't he? And it hurt you. There was no equality in how you were both treated, was there?"

"My father was a disciplinarian, yes. As a boy, I thought him hard, but he was preparing me for taking over his role when the time came. I always knew he loved me; I just had to accept that that was his way."

"Stop fooling yourself, Olivier!" L'Hernault screeched at him. "Why did he behave differently towards you? It's obvious! You were not his legitimate son and heir, but he had to recognise you as such, not to – as you so delicately put it – 'protect and preserve' the reputation of the woman he had married, but to save his own face. How would that look at Henri's court, eh? If word got out that the powerful Comte de la Fère was not only a cuckold but was raising the bastard son of someone else to be his successor?"

Tréville had remained standing, obviously not trusting either of them, and ready to involve himself again as the verbal battle unfolded.

Feelings were at their height and no-one present in the room could predict how any resolution might be reached between the two younger men, so entrenched were they in their side of the families' feud.

The Captain saw the little colour in Athos' face drain away; saw the green eyes turn cold, narrow and harden, and held his breath.

At this point, had he a sword in his hand, Athos would be at his deadliest. Instead, he elected to deliver his _coup de gr__â__ce _with words.

He lay his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet, the movement slow and deliberate for he did not want his Captain to launch himself into another intervention, but he had to regain control of himself and the situation.

"Your father has filled your head with lies and filth, the product of his unfounded jealousy and bitterness. For a while, he would have his evil words besmirch the reputation of a good woman, my mother, and all because she spurned him for she loved another man. Your father and the feud he created was the thorn in my family's side, but the love my parents shared rose above it. Their devotion, trust and faith in each other meant that Guillaume L'Hernault could never win.

"And so he became irrational, delusional, displaying all the tendencies of insanity that has plagued your family through the generations."

At this, L'Hernault's eyes widened, he began to gently rock and emitted a low keening sound.

Athos ignored it, raised his voice and went in for his verbal 'kill'.

"You, Etienne, are now demonstrating those same traits. There is not a drop of blood in my veins that is shared with you. The only similarity about us is our height and there it ends. I have heard how closely you resemble your father; you have his swarthy complexion, his sandy-coloured hair and blue eyes. I am dark, like my mother _and my _father. My green eyes run in the de la Fère family. My lineage is in no doubt for many reasons, but I would not demean myself by explaining them chapter and verse."

The keening increased in volume, the rocking more frantic but Athos had not finished.

"You say you want me to call you brother and yet you would see me dead and have tried to kill me twice. Action and sentiment are at odds here. No, Etienne L'Hernault, we are not brothers, we never were, and we never could be. Do I hate you? I may have done, years ago when I was younger but not now. Now I pity you, for your desire to destroy me has led to your own downfall. You have killed an innocent man and must pay the price. I am Athos the Musketeer and I have sworn to uphold the law of this land and my King, so I will leave you to its justice. The feud is over. I am done."

He turned abruptly and strode from the room, throwing the door back on it hinges. As he continued past his startled colleague, who had been on duty in the corridor and heard the louder exchanges, L'Hernault's screams followed him.

"I will get you, Athos _the _Musketeer! I will not fail a third time. This is _not _over!"


	99. Chapter 99

_**Thank you for reading and reviewing.**_

_**So, what is the outcome of Athos' outburst?**_

CHAPTER 99

"Stay with him!" Tréville ordered the bemused Musketeer before he hurried down the corridor in Athos' wake. He saw the outer door swing shut and quickened his pace but refrained from breaking into a run.

He was through the door just as Athos leaned against the outer wall and slid down to the ground, head bowed and gulping in air like a landed fish as he sat there, shaking in the aftermath of the encounter.

Tréville gingerly lowered himself down as well and stretched out his legs in front of him. The pair sat there, staring ahead of them and in silence for some time as Athos recovered his composure and Tréville waited.

"Is sitting on the ground a dignified place for a captain?" Athos asked eventually, still not making eye contact.

It was a signal to Tréville that he was calm once more. "Probably not, and I anticipate that the getting up will be even less so."

Athos smiled a little, his focus now on picking at a piece of skin on the side of his thumb.

"I was not going to attack him, you know," he said quietly.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"I did not overturn the table to get _to _him," Athos continued, not sure whether the Captain believed him. "I overturned it to vent my anger so that I did _not_ gethim."

There was a long pause.

"I am relieved that you restrained yourself. It would not have been appropriate, but I also would have understood. You certainly had the provocation." He hesitated. "The things he said to you … your brother … "

"Please, Captain," Athos suddenly turned to him, his green eyes troubled. "I don't want to talk about it. I can't."

Tréville nodded. "If the time ever comes that you do …" He left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

"I know," and Athos dropped his head again.

"I apologise for over-reacting; I know that I hurt you. How is the wound now?"

"Still grumbling but improving, thank you. It was my fault for losing my temper."

"We won't talk about whose fault it was. Let's say it was more of a misunderstanding; on my part, that is."

Another pause.

"You must be prepared for the fact that L'Hernault might never come to trial," Tréville said as he began to absent-mindedly tear at tufts of grass beside him and throw them beyond reach.

Athos considered the comment before responding. "Because he will be declared a lunatic, you mean."

"I am sure of it. We have witnessed his strange behaviour, heard his outrageous claims …"

"You agree that they are irrational?" Athos sounded desperate for Tréville to believe him.

"Of course! They are nothing more than the ravings of a man losing his grip on his reason," Tréville reassured him and saw him sag with relief. "If it were not for the unhappiness his father's claims brought to your parents, it would be pitiful, risible even."

"For all the trouble that L'Hernault has caused, I would not like to think of him with his state of mind housed within the Châtelet or the Bastille," Athos went on softly.

"It is more likely to be the Hôtel-Dieu."

"And the conditions in an asylum would be better?"

"He would be tended at least; his social rank and financial standing would go some way to helping with his care."

"I never thought it would come to this," Athos was filled with regret.

"No, I don't suppose you did; no-one would have envisaged this outcome." Tréville stole a sideways glance. "I hope you are not entertaining any thoughts of feeling guilty."

Athos managed a weak smile. "Not this time."

"Good! And now," he began, slapping his thighs in business-like fashion, "we need to get ready for Louis' hunt banquet. It will have started and, as Captains of the regiments here, we will be expected to be in attendance. Then we need to meet with Richelieu to update him and discuss how the King should handle tomorrow's meeting. We know he will turn down Menier's petition and so we need to notify our reinforcements. Everyone is apprised of what to do; they just need the signal."

"I will send my apologies for the banquet and join you at the first opportunity, but I need to check on the men." Athos gave a wry smile – he could not bring himself to refer to them as 'my' men. "I do not know what orders they have been given by Planque, nor if they are even following them. I need to make sure that they will be ready tomorrow but before then," he sighed, "I also need to find Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan; we did not part well"

"You can settle some of that right now," Tréville said, indicating with his head to where he had spied Porthos walking purposefully towards them.

As the big Musketeer neared them though, his steps seemed to falter as if he wondered about the reception he might receive.

"Porthos!" the Captain greeted him warmly, demonstrating that he harboured no ill-feeling about the earlier exchange.

"You two takin' the early evenin' air?" Porthos ventured. "You don't exactly look comfortable down there."

"It did seem a good idea at the time," Tréville commented as he moved to push himself up. A large hand appeared in front of his face and he seized it. Oh, but Porthos was a strong man! He hauled the Captain to his feet with astonishing ease and the officer was already dusting down the seat of his breeches as Athos was pulled up beside him.

"Thank you," the Captain said, his gaze flitting between the two of them. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have things that I must do. I'll leave you two to talk," and he was gone.

"I shouldn't 'ave said …"

"Porthos, I owe you and …"

Both began talking at the same time and stopped simultaneously.

"I am sorry," Athos said. "You first."

"I wanted to say I shouldn't 'ave said the things I did. It's your business what you tell us an' I shouldn't 'ave pushed like I did an' I'm sorry."

"I am the one who should be sorry," Athos countered, shaking his head at the other man's admission. "It's a word I seem to be using frequently of late. I was coming over to find you and the others. I need to talk to the three of you, give you some sort of explanation."

"You don't 'ave to, you know."

"Yes, I do. I know I owe it to you but …" His voice trailed off and his eyes misted. "There are things … Porthos, I …" and his voice caught. "It is too … much." He shuddered.

"An' it 'urts a lot," Porthos guessed correctly.

"Yet again I am asking a great deal of you, Aramis and d'Artagnan. I swear I do not take your trust or your friendship for granted even though my actions suggest otherwise."

Porthos cupped the back of Athos' neck. "I know you don't. Don't take any notice o' me. I just want to look out for you, that's all. That's what brothers do but I swear, there are times when you seem to go out of your way to make that as difficult as possible." He felt Athos nod beneath his hand. "You tell us what you can, what you need to, an' that'll be good enough for me."

"I do not deserve you, any of you," Athos said in little more than a whisper.

Porthos pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace. "No more o' that, you hear me?"

They separated.

"So, you think you'll be able to stay an' eat with us?" Porthos asked, his face betraying his eagerness. "Maybe you can tell us what 'appened with Allaire an' L'Hernault."

Athos' heart sank; there was so much he needed to do and, as Tréville had informed him, he was expected to attend the banquet as he was now captain of the Red Guard.

Everything was a priority but it only took a moment to reach a decision.

"First, need to visit the Red Guard camp briefly to see that all is well there and to see if I can find Grenouille."

"'E was looking for you earlier," Porthos interrupted.

"Yes, he was gathering some information for me, but I was busy."

"Seems like a good man for a Red Guard," Porthos added, but said no more.

"I think he is," Athos admitted. "Anyway, when I have found him and seen how things are, I will meet you at the tent. I do not think it advisable to eat in the open near Serge's position for if I am seen by any of the Red Guard, they could quickly misinterpret my actions."

"Understood. Gives us time to collect the food an' be back there ready for you," Porthos agreed.

"I warn you now, I will not be able to stay for long. I am expected at the banquet and would like to check for myself the Red Guard who are on duty. After that, I have a meeting with the Captain and Richelieu about tomorrow."

"Busy! The price of bein' captain, eh?"

"It seems I am discovering just how costly with each passing hour," Athos answered ruefully.

_**A/N**_

_**Hotel Dieu de Paris was founded in the mid-7th century and is the world's oldest hospital in constant use. By the time this story is set, part of it was used as an asylum.**_


	100. Chapter 100

_**Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for reading yesterday's chapter and for leaving lovely comments.**_

_**This is an important day for the story as I reach a landmark CHAPTER 100! When I set out posting this story on September 1st last year, I was 4 days into a 3-month adventure in the USA. No-one could have envisaged what we were about to face.**_

_**Nearly 9 months later, the world is in chaos, travel is cancelled and we are in lockdown, unable to be with friends and family who live elsewhere and there has been a weird, global rush on toilet paper! **_

_**My sister (an NHS worker) is, thank the Lord, recovering from Covid-19 but too many others have not been so lucky and my heart goes out to them and their families. So, home alone, I continue to write this story, hoping to bring a little daily relief to you all. Isolation would be so much harder to endure without email, internet, social media and the phone.**_

**_So, to help me mark this special chapter, I have a favour to ask. I would love to hear from as many of you as possible. _****_All you need do is say, 'Hi!' _****_I'm not asking you to leave an actual review or comment. _**_**I would be so excited and it would make my day!**_

_**And now, Athos' day is far from over and here he catches up with his second-in-command.**_

CHAPTER 100

Athos schooled his features so that he gave nothing away as he read through the list of the Red Guards' supplies that he had requested from Grenouille. The man had been quick and efficient in producing it and although the hand was child-like, it was at least legible. He knew Grenouille was watching him and he did not want the man to think he was immediately judging the Red Guard unfavourably, but he was appalled by what he was seeing. They had had the same amount of preparation time as the Musketeers; Tréville and Richelieu had decided early on that a significant number from both regiments would be accompanying the royal party and the Cardinal had deliberately hand-picked those of his own regiment who would be included.

So where had the instructions for the Red Guard fallen down so badly? It surely could not have been from the Cardinal himself; he would not do anything to jeopardise the safety of the monarch. Planque was advised that a threat to the King was possible, which was why so many more of his men were required. Why had he not made adequate provision for those men then? The food quantity was totally inadequate for that number of soldiers and basic in quality. Admittedly they were fewer than the Musketeers, but it was always known how long Louis intended to remain at Versailles and should the trouble – if it materialised - detain them any longer, then extra food should have been included. There was barely enough for the men for the expected duration of the visit and then only if they were rationed from the outset.

He could not help but be reminded of what Tréville said so often; that a good soldier was a well-fed soldier.* Athos was grateful, not for the first time, that he served under such a man. He glanced over the list again and checked the back of the piece of paper in case he had missed anything. It was blank. Planque could only have been in command for a matter of weeks – since his disreputable predecessor had been dispatched by d'Artagnan. Why had Richelieu not taken more notice of what was happening within his regiment? Did he really trust Planque so completely? The man had obviously never had the experience of preparing to go into the field but why had he not sought advice? Was it through pride or the result of unfortunate inexperience? Or was it a painful example of the man's incompetence that Grenouille had complained about to Athos?

Or did Planque have some other agenda and if so, what could it be?

No wonder the Red Guard had reacted so badly to the setting up of the Musketeer kitchen so near to them. They had seen and smelt the preparation of the food for the King's regiment and, feeling justifiably aggrieved, they had acted upon their outrage. What were they expected to do? Hungry, they might be forced to pillage from the nearby villages or poach from the forest and that would be detrimental to Louis' hunt.

"Not exactly a banquet, is it?" Grenouille said eventually and yet there was no bitterness in his tone.

The irony was not lost on Athos that the King and his guests were feasting on freshly roasted meat and luxurious sweetmeats, whilst the soldiers, grown men and physically active, had such plain fare and inadequate in filling their bellies. He could not believe that Richelieu would allow this hardship had he known about it.

"Not really," he admitted, trying to make light of his concern and aware that he had been silent for too long. Something else occurred to him and he was almost afraid to ask. "Tell me about the spare weapons and ammunition that you have brought with you."

This time there was an edge to Grenouille's voice and his face hardened. "We're a little better off there but it's still not enough if we're supposed to be headin' for trouble. I did try to tell 'im about that but he weren't 'avin' it." He was referring to Planque.

"I confess to being surprised that he did not listen. A career soldier such as you must have seen campaign action and could have advised him."

"Probably didn't want to 'ear what I 'ad to say on account of it comin' from me," Grenouille admitted. "You want me to bring you a list of that too?" he offered.

Athos nodded. "I need to see how much there is and how far we can share it out. I will issue instructions tomorrow morning."

"We really expectin' trouble then?"

"How much did the Captain tell you?"

Grenouille shrugged. "Not a lot. 'E hinted that there might be something likely to 'appen but we'd already worked that out for ourselves, the fact that there were so many of us comin' to Versailles this time an' especially when we saw your lot. We've got no idea who we might be fightin', why or how many an' we don't know where they're comin' from or when. Makes a man uneasy, that does, Captain. I learned more from your friends in a couple of minutes than I knew before."

"And what did they tell you?" Athos was hoping that they had not divulged too much by accident.

"You'd gone to a meetin' down south as a sort of spy an' someone'd recognised you an' ordered some men to kill you. Your friend … Aramis, is it? 'E said you'd been 'urt bringin' back some important information for the King and Cardinal."

"And no doubt he told you that I was not ready to be doing what I am doing?"

Grenouille looked sheepish but Athos smiled at his correct assumption.

"I understand your unhappiness about the situation, I really do, but much of this has been shrouded in secrecy out of absolute necessity. I will be in a better position to tell you more in the morning, I promise you. To that end, I want the men mustered for inspection and orders at seven."

Grenouille looked surprised. "Inspection?"

"Yes, didn't Planque inspect the men?"

"Well, yes, but not every day. 'E'd leave it to me the other times. When 'e did do it, 'e didn't take that long about it."

Athos had to bite back what he wanted to say. Instead, he reached up to clap a hand on the other man's shoulder, a friendly gesture that caused a wide-eyed surprise, but Athos chose to ignore it. "No offence, Grenouille, but I want to do it for myself. I expect every man to be in proper uniform and I want to check weapons. No man under my command is seeing action with a dirty weapon. I am telling you this now so that you can pass it on to them; call it a warning if you like. There should be no man who is not ready, but in the event of anyone failing to meet this standard, you will take his name and he must rectify it before he is allowed to break his fast. I expect to be giving out instructions at that time and I have no doubt that there will be plenty of them."

"Do you have any idea when this whatever-it-is might start?"

Athos let his hand drop. "Not exactly but there is an important meeting at nine in the morning and everything depends upon the outcome. That is all I can tell you, I am sorry."

"I know an' don't worry, I can accept that. At least you're talkin' to me an' explainin' what you can."

"What time does your late evening duty change?"

"At ten**," Grenouille told him.

Athos reflected on that. He wanted to eat and spend time with his brothers, desperate to make some amends to them, before making an appearance at the banquet. He knew that he would then have a late-night meeting with Tréville and Richelieu but hoped that they would understand any delay.

"I will make my rounds then," he announced, "and I want you to accompany me."

"Glad to, Captain."

"I will meet you here then," Athos said, turning in the direction of the Musketeer camp.

"Captain, you not goin' to the King's banquet?"

"Not immediately. I am visiting my friends; it might be a while before we have the opportunity to be together again."

Grenouille watched the young man go and thought about what he had said. It was natural that Athos wished to see his comrades; even more so if the next day were to bring a pitched battle, because those four friends would not be fighting beside each other. The Captain was certainly acting as if he anticipated combat and he would be leading the Red Guard, but he was already wounded and Grenouille had not thought to ask the nature of the injury, nor how far he was along the road to recovery. He did not look as if it were hindering him to any great extent but then Grenouille was no man of medicine.

If they were about to be embroiled in a vicious conflict, who knew how many of them would still be standing the next time the sun set?

_**A/N**_

_**And today's little gems …**_

_*** The comment 'an army marches on its stomach' is attributed to Napoleon and consequently too late to be used here but Treville is a wise commander and he would, no doubt, have reached a similar conclusion, hence his words.**_

_**** The French army did not use or refer to the twenty-four hour clock until 1909.**_


	101. Chapter 101

_**Thank you SO much for all the lovely comments that went over and above the 'hi' I suggested. **_

_**The calm before the storm today in this chapter.**_

CHAPTER 101

I

"He's coming!" d'Artagnan said, unable to hide his excitement.

Ever since Porthos brought the news that Athos was joining them for dinner, the young Gascon had been on tenterhooks and his anticipation was infectious. They had swiftly tidied the tent and all three had hurried to where Serge had been preparing food, assisted by two willing Musketeers in lieu of his kitchen boy. With full plate, they returned to the tent, retrieved one of the few bottles of wine they had brought with them and prepared to wait, each hoping that Athos' business would not keep him so long that the food had the time to go cold. D'Artagnan's eagerness finally drove the others to post him as look-out at the entrance and, with his announcement, he scuttled back to his cot and dropped onto it, not wanting to be caught watching.

Athos opened the tent flap and hesitated briefly but the three were on their feet. Aramis was the first to greet him with a warm embrace and Porthos clapped him on the back, a gentle gesture for him. D'Artagnan's initial effusiveness had melted away to a warm shyness as he ushered Athos to his seat. Porthos handed him a plate whilst Aramis poured the wine for all of them, their voices eager and welcoming as they plied him with questions about the afternoon's interrogations and what Athos thought of the Red Guard.

As they ate, Athos told them most of what had happened but held back about losing his temper.

At last, he set his empty plate on the floor and wrapped his hands about the cup of wine.

"I owe you all an apology and I know that I keep saying it. You were right. L'Hernault's desire to have me dead is not about my being a spy at the meeting. We have known each other since we were boys." He hesitated and took a mouthful of wine as if to buy himself some more time.

"You were childhood friends?" Aramis prompted gently as the silence lengthened.

"No," Athos answered forcefully. "Quite the opposite. There had been a long-standing feud between our two fathers and L'Hernault has decided to carry it on."

"What was it about?" d'Artagnan asked in all innocence, missing the warning looks that Aramis and Porthos were giving him. He would learn in time that there were questions best left unasked and to leave Athos to say what he wanted, but now it was too late.

"A matter of honour," was the short reply.

Aramis held out the bottle and refilled Athos' cup as he sat staring at the ground. Both the marksman and Porthos knew that he was wrestling with himself as to how much more he would reveal, if anything.

"His father was mad, quite mad," Athos announced suddenly. "Now I fear that L'Hernault suffers the same affliction."

"That would explain some of his strange behaviour then," Aramis acknowledged. "I assume the feud between your fathers was never satisfactorily resolved." He carefully couched it as a statement rather than a query but there was another long, heavy silence before Athos answered.

"My father killed his in self-defence."

Aramis let out a long, slow breath and Porthos shuffled in his seat. Neither had expected that declaration and this time, as dArtagnan opened his mouth to speak, Porthos laid a hand on his arm to quieten him.

Athos stood up, clearly signalling that he was not going to say more on the matter, nor was he prepared to answer any other questions they might have.

"I am sorry that I have to go so soon but I must attend the end of the banquet."

Aramis reached for his bag. "Not until you have let me check that wound, you don't. At the very least, I need to change the dressing and bandage," and he rose to stand in front of Athos. Porthos was in the best position to block the exit from the tent.

"Anything to put your mind at rest," Athos conceded and started to remove his doublet, much to Aramis' surprise for he had been prepared for all manner of resistance.

Athos untucked his shirt and held it up so that the dressing could be removed.

"You look exhausted," Aramis said as conversationally as he could whilst focusing on his work.

"I am … somewhat tired," Athos admitted.

"I could give you something to help you sleep," Aramis offered as he finished unwinding the bandage and exposed the dressing.

"No thank you. I remember how I felt after the last time you gave me something to aid sleep. I would, however, welcome a draft for the pain in case I require it tomorrow." He was not about to admit that he was going to swallow it as soon as he left them, for he needed something to quieten the significant discomfort he had felt since hitting the ground when Planque was shot. His subsequent encounter with a wall had not helped matters either.

Aramis' sharp intake of breath when the wound was revealed was not what Athos had not been expecting.

"What is it? I did not think I had torn the stitches. Is it infected again?"

"You haven't and no, it's not, but there is new bruising," and Aramis let his fingers lightly flit over the fresh marks upon the otherwise pale skin. It was enough to draw a hiss from Athos. "Did that hurt?"

Athos nodded, craning his neck to see the evidence.

"When Planque knocked into you, you must have landed much more heavily than we all thought," Aramis said.

"It seems so." Athos would not add that he had been knocked against another hard surface by his commanding officer for that would lead to the inevitable questions as to what had occasioned it and he refused to go into more detail than he had already shared.

"Other than the bruising, it is healing well, and I should be able to take out the stitches in a couple of days. We'll get through tomorrow first," and Armis straightened up. "Not that you'll be doing any fighting, will you?" he added pointedly.

"How will you be leading the Red Guard?" Porthos pressed.

"Not from horseback," Athos answered quickly as he dropped his shirt over the fresh bandage and tucked it into his breeches.

"Athos," Aramis warned, rolling his eyes.

"All being well, there will be no fighting at all, and we will have done all this and worried in vain," Athos continued with false levity. No-one in the tent believed him and he certainly did not believe it himself. "Anyway, I could always hide behind Grenouille," he quipped, as he pulled on his doublet.

II

The King and his guests were still eating when Athos slipped into the Great Hall and searched the room for Tréville. He saw the Cardinal first, sitting towards one end of the top table, an empty seat by his side. He then saw the Captain standing in a shadowed corner of the room beyond the King; he was deep in conversation with one of the Musketeers on duty and as Athos approached, he saw that it was Claude.

"All well?" Tréville asked as he joined them.

"Mostly," he said tentatively.

Tréville arched a brow and Claude drifted away, leaving them to their discussion.

"I spent time with the others; we talked and ate together."

"I am pleased," the Captain said and, with a perfectly straight face, added, "I find it very unsettling when the four of you are at odds!"

"The problem lies with the Red Guard though. I have thought about it and have some ideas, but I need your help."

III

When the feasting had finished and Louis and his guests had divided into smaller groups, regaling each other with tales of their part in the day's hunt, Athos excused himself and headed back to the camp.

He was not late but Grenouille was already waiting for him. He had been busy and handed over another sheet of paper listing the weapons and ammunition. Athos struggled to make out the words by the light of a campfire. It made for better reading than the provisions inventory, but it was still woeful in comparison with what the Musketeers had brought with them.

"Thanks for that," Athos said, folding it and slipping it into a pocket to join the other list. "Let's make our rounds," and with Grenouille carrying a flaming torch to light the way, they headed towards the perimeter of the camp. Athos knew from having studied the security plans where every man should be stationed - be he Musketeer or Red Guard – but he was only concerned with the men he now commanded.

As he and Grenouille walked, he asked about the strengths and weaknesses of the men who had been brought to Versailles and was impressed by the depth of the other man's answers. With every exchange, Athos was increasingly convinced that Grenouille was a good soldier and was the right choice to be his second-in-command. If he continued in this vein, then he would soon be re-instated to his former rank.

As they neared each post, Athos insisted that he be told the identity of the man on duty there so that he met each of the Guards by name, before engaging them in a brief conversation. Where possible, he referred to something that Grenouille had told him about the individual and was satisfied more than once with the surprised reactions he received.

Every man was where he was supposed to be and no-one had been late to relieve their colleague.

"That's a first," Grenouille admitted when they had completed their task. "You're already 'avin' a good effect on 'em."

Athos smiled. "I think it is more to do with you having words with them earlier. I am sure many of them still resent having a Musketeer in charge, even if it is temporary. "

Grenouille shook his head. "There's nowhere for 'em to hide out 'ere if they don't follow orders an' they know already that you're checkin' up on things so they can't get away with anythin'; you're not ignorin' the duties or the men. I might be speakin' out of turn here, Captain, but there's somethin' I'd like to say."

"You may speak freely."

"When we did the rounds an' you spent time talkin' to the men, it was as if you cared about 'em, actually saw them as human bein's, instead of a nobody just there to be shouted at. They 'aven't 'ad that in a long time. So just in case no-one else says it, I want to say somethin' on their behalf. It's short an' sweet but … thank you. I'll leave you to get on now; I know you've got a lot still to do but make sure you get some sleep. 'Night."

Before the stunned Athos had a chance to respond, Grenouille walked away.

"Goodnight," the Musketeer-turned-Red Guard called out.

Grenouille did not turn or break his stride but simply raised a hand in a gesture of farewell.


	102. Chapter 102

_**Thank you to everyone who has commented on the past couple of chapters, especially if you are a guest for I cannot contact you separately. **_

_**Thank you also to the many readers who are following this story.**_

_**In this chapter, it's going to be a long night!**_

CHAPTER 102

I

Aramis lay awake in the darkness, listening to the dying sounds of the camp as the men settled for the night. They had all been ordered by Tréville not to keep late hours. He heard another cot in the tent creak as someone turned over.

"Porthos, you awake?" he whispered.

"Yeah. You findin' it hard to go to sleep too?"

"My mind's too active."

"I can't sleep either," a third voice cut in. d'Artagnan.

"You thinkin' about Athos?"

Aramis nodded and then tutted at his foolishness when he realised no-one could see him. "All sorts of things but him mostly."

"How d'you think he looked?" Porthos asked.

"Pale, drawn, exhausted," Aramis answered.

"I thought so too. If this thing with the nobles blows up tomorrow, there's no way 'e should be fightin'."

"He can't avoid it when he has to lead the Red Guard."

"I understand why 'e was made up to actin' captain an' there's no-one more suited to it but it shouldn't 'ave 'appened like this, not on top of everythin' else."

"I agree with you, Porthos," Aramis said softly, "but there's no undoing it now. We'll just have to hope that this Grenouille is a man who's as good as his word and that he will try, as far as possible, to keep an eye on our brother."

"What did you think of Athos' story? The one about him and L'Hernault?" asked d'Artagnan who had been quietly listening to the exchange between the other two.

"We were partly right," Aramis answered, "and it reinforces what we've been thinking about him being from the nobility. L'Hernault is a Baron, as was his father before him; he would not lower himself to have a feud or a fight to the death with a commoner."

"Maybe he'll be ready an' willin' to tell us one day," Porthos said, stifling a yawn.

"Maybe," Aramis agreed, his word sounding empty in the darkness.

II

"I demand to see my brother, Richelieu!" Gaston was decidedly unhappy which was a considerable change from the buoyant mood he had displayed at the banquet.

"No-one _demands_ to see the King," the First Minister reminded him carefully as he thought of his earlier meeting with Menier. "Besides, His Majesty has already retired. It has been a long and exhausting day. Tomorrow is designated as a day of rest so I will arrange an audience with him in the morning after he has conducted his other business."

"I refuse to wait that long. I want explanations _now_!"

Richelieu half expected Gaston to stamp his foot in an immature rage. He smiled but it lacked warmth.

"Perhaps I can help you with whatever has upset you, Monsieur*," Richelieu offered. "If you would care to accompany me to my office, I will see what I can do to assist you," and, after a slight dip of the head in forced deference, he walked off, an act of disdain at odds with the formal address.

Gaston hesitated briefly and then almost trotted to catch up with the Cardinal. Inside the room, once the door was shut, neither took a seat and Gaston's fury erupted.

"I hear that you have arrested two of my friends and have them locked up under guard. What is the meaning of this? I demand that you release them immediately."

"That will not be possible in the case of one of them," the Cardinal answered. His voice was low, menacing.

"What do you mean?" Gaston spat out.

"Baron L'Hernault is guilty of the murder of the Captain of the Red Guard," Richelieu explained. "He will be facing a trial on our return to Paris.

"Captain of the Red Guard? I don't understand! Why would he want to kill him?" Gaston was puzzled.

"Perhaps you expected to hear that he had killed a Musketeer instead?" Richelieu challenged , his eyes hard.

"I don't know what you mean!"

"I hear it from Captain Tréville who was present during the interrogation of both men that L'Hernault claimed you ordered him to dispose of a troubling Musketeer who had been present at the meeting of the nobles."

"_I_ gave such an order?" Gaston was incredulous.

It was not very convincing, but the Cardinal feigned his acceptance and gave a surprising chuckle that was as disconcerting as it was unexpected.

"I thought that it could not be possible but, sadly, it appears that L'Hernault is losing his grip on his sanity and I dare say such an order was one of his many flights of fancy. Yes, that must be it."

"But what of the other man, Allaire? Surely he was not involved?"

"Not in the murder, no, but he was complicit in the attempt to dispose of the murder weapon and in supplying a false alibi for L'Hernault," the Cardinal explained.

"So what do you propose to do with him?" Gaston asked. He tried to appear disinterested but the rise in his voice betrayed his agitation.

Richelieu recognised correctly that the Duc was concerned that he was being deprived of a trustworthy messenger on the eve of the crucial meeting and the potential uprising. He needed to lull the King's brother into a false sense of security.

"Absolutely nothing, but I haven't told him that; at least, not yet. He has to learn the valuable lesson that it is not acceptable to impede an investigation. _No_ social rank gives him the right to do that." Richelieu hoped that his emphasis might be a reminder to Gaston to guard his own behaviour. Being the King's brother would not give him any protection in the face of a proven charge of treason.

"So he will remain locked up for the duration of the night. That should give him plenty of time to contemplate the error of his ways. He will be released in the morning but not before," Richelieu continued. "Now if you will excuse me, I still have business to attend to before I am able to retire. Let me show you out," and indicating that Gaston preceded him this time, he moved to open the door. Their discussion was at an end and with that, Gaston had to be satisfied.

III

When Tréville and Athos arrived, it was nearing midnight. Athos reported on the Red Guard, firstly informing Richelieu of the inadequate provisions his men had and, as he expected, the Cardinal had no idea and was rightly indignant. It increased to rage when he and Tréville learned of the shortcomings in the weapons and shot.

"I have given it thought," Athos said and went on to outline how best the situation might be salvaged.

"The man was incompetent," Richelieu sputtered, meaning Planque.

"I am surprised you appointed him to such an auspicious position." Tréville could not resist making the comment but kept his expression neutral.

For once, Richelieu was momentarily flustered, but that weakness was gone in an instant. "He seemed an appropriate choice at the time, given the sudden depletion of Red Guard," and he looked hard at Athos as if it were his fault that he had been wrongly accused of murder and that his brothers had been forced to fight and slay those same Guards in a desire to find the evidence to prove his innocence.

"No matter," Tréville said and brusquely changed the subject. "We must discuss the advice given to His Majesty before his meeting with Menier and know exactly what we are doing as soon as that meeting is over. We have planned for this eventuality for several weeks. Now we must ensure that the implementation of those plans is conducted smoothly."

_**Today's 'little gem':**_

_**(Think that's what I'll call my notes from now on. So much nicer than A/N!)**_

_*** Third son of King Henry IV (ruled 1589–1610) and Marie de Médicis, Gaston was at first known as the Duc d'Anjou. As the only surviving brother of Louis XIII, he was known as "Monsieur" from 1611. **__**After the death of **___Gaston's___** brother Louis XIII in 1643, his nephew Philippe, brother of the new king Louis XIV, became the new **___Monsieur___**. To differentiate the older **___Monsieur___** from the younger, **___Gaston___**, the uncle, was **___called Le___** Grand **___Monsieur___** and Philippe, the nephew, was **___called Le___** Petit **___Monsieur___**.**_


	103. Chapter 103

_**Greetings! Thank you as always to those who have been reading and reviewing. Lovely to hear from you all.**_

_**A little later today - sorry. Easter weekend, I had a buffer of about 8 chapters but you have 'caught up' with me now as I've done other things. I actually finished this chapter this morning! It is a longer one so I hope that makes up for it. My apologies if I have still let errors creep through.**_

_**This lets you know where everyone will be and what they will be doing - should the anticipated attack happen, of course! **_

CHAPTER 103

"I have already spoken with His Majesty," Richelieu said, " and his view is what we anticipated and in keeping with what we were going to advise anyway. He will not tolerate the petition presented by Menier under any circumstances given the nature and timing of its delivery. The King feels that he is being held to ransom, knowing that armed forces are nearby and that an uprising is imminent. He is adamant that he will not be held to account like that. He was most indignant that the rebel nobles thought they could make such a move against him. He is, as is understandable, particularly angry with his brother and is anxious to know what we should do with him."

"When we believe the attack is unavoidable, we will place him under arrest as well as the nobles in the hunting party whom we know are involved, just as we planned," Tréville reminded him. "They will be locked up and kept under a minimal Musketeer guard as we will need as many men as possible to fight."

"The regiments' camps will provide a hindrance to a direct attack from the north-west, but it will not withstand them for long if they have many on horseback; tents will be easily trampled." Athos went over their strategy again pointing to a map spread out on Richelieu's table. It showed the hunting lodge and the surrounding area. Another large sheet beside it showed a detailed floor plan of the different levels of the lodge itself. "So a Red Guard contingent will be defending there whilst a Musketeer force will be more northerly to encounter other rebel forces here. Our allies will move around the south of the lodge to flank the rebels."

"We have chambers identified on an upper floor where their Majesties and the ladies of the party can take shelter," Tréville continued. "Two Musketeers will be guarding the royal couple specifically whilst members of the Red Guard will be instructed to build barricades along the corridors with furniture and to protect the women and a couple of the more elderly male courtiers who are here for the gathering but not actually hunting. We are assuming that the remainder of the able-bodied nobles will bear arms in defence of their King. I will have a couple of Musketeers ready to ride as soon as we need them after tomorrow's meeting to take the signal to the King's supporters."

"Remind me of other defences," Richelieu said, turning his attention to the ground plan.

"The female servants and older males will go down in the cellars. There are a couple of exits here and here," and Athos pointed them out, "that lead up above ground. They will be instructed to block them, and the other male servants will be expected to do their best in defending them. We will just have to hope that a couple of them at least know how to fire a weapon, enough to slow or repel any intruders who might attempt to gain access to the lodge that way. We cannot to deploy men there but they will be present on the ground floor should any rebels get that far.

"There are several exits from the lodge on the ground level. Again, we do not have the manpower to have soldiers at each of them so we will block as many as we can, primarily the smaller exits. Main doors here, here and here will be guarded by Musketeers."

"Musketeers again?" Richelieu said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Athos.

"There are more Musketeers than Red Guard, Your Eminence." Athos spoke patiently. They had discussed this so many times, but it was standard practice to review strategies as the prospect of conflict drew nearer.

"They are also the Kings' Guard, sworn to protect His Majesty," Tréville added. "It is only right that they form a final line of defence, with the exception of your guards in the corridor outside the rooms where the royal couple and others are taking shelter."

Richelieu harrumphed loudly at the reminder.

"There are Red Guard who will be in these positions around the outbuildings." Again, Athos indicated where they were. "Musketeer horses will be saddled and ready should there be any need of a pursuit. We do not want rebels dispersing them or attempting to gain access through this side door." He was referring to the one used by L'Hernault earlier in the day.

"And there will be marksmen on the top floor," Tréville said. Aramis was one who had already been given his orders. He would be stationed there with another Musketeer who was assigned to reload several weapons for him.

Richelieu continued to study the plans. "Where will the prisoners be held? There will be quite a few of them arrested in the morning and possibly more before the day is over."

Tréville was the one who answered as he showed a line of rooms on the ground floor. "We have designated all these storage rooms along this corridor here. They are on inside walls with no windows and all are lockable. The keys are all there. Where possible, some of the contents have already been moved to make for bigger space and, of course, two are already occupied by L'Hernault and Allaire."

"Allaire will be freed early morning. That is what I have told Gaston," the Cardinal explained. "Of course, there would have been a third prisoner."

"A third?" Athos frowned, for he could not recall there being another one. Allaire's Paris contact had been arrested and interrogated there before he died.

"Yes," the Cardinal went on. "De Mayenne, another of Gaston's minions*. He was taken into custody immediately after we left Paris and brought here for questioning under cover of darkness. I did not want to run the risk of Gaston seeing him arrive and I certainly did not want to alarm the ladies."

Athos and Tréville exchanged alarmed glances. It was worrying to discover that they were still being enlightened as to some of the Cardinal's actions after the fact. Could he be holding back any more surprises?

"What happened to him?" Tréville wanted to know.

"His weight and utter terror at being apprehended conspired against him. His heart gave out before he even got here. The men arrived with a fat corpse! He was buried that first night in a copse not far from here. Anyway, gentlemen, it is nearly one in the morning and I am for my bed; we are going to have a busy day ahead of us."

"Where are you going to sleep?" Tréville asked as he and Athos tidied their chairs.

"I had not given it any thought," Athos admitted. "My belongings are in the tent in the Musketeer camp. I do not want to disturb Aramis, Porthos or d'Artagnan by collecting my stuff and it would not be appropriate staying there. It also makes it difficult should the Red Guard need me during the night."

"There is no problem," Richelieu interrupted. "Planque was in the room next to Tréville. You can use that."

"Does it bother you?" Tréville asked as soon as he and Athos had left the Cardinal and walked through the corridors dimly lit by flickering lamps, their booted steps breaking the silence of the night. Each carried a candle in a holder. The assigned rooms were on the ground floor at the rear of the lodge and near an exit. They were close enough should Richelieu wish to send for them but gave them an easy access out to the camps. "Staying in Planque's room, I mean?"

Athos considered the question. "Not really; he was only there for the one night and it is not as if he died in the bed. Anyway, I am so tired, I am in danger of falling asleep on my feet. My one fear is not rousing in a few hours."

"Don't worry; I'll make sure that you are up," Tréville said. He halted by a door. "This room is yours and mine is the next one."

"Thank you." Athos opened his door, but the Captain did not move on.

"This is far from being the quiet working in the background that was one of your intentions in coming to Versailles," Tréville ventured, lighting his candle in the flame of the nearest lamp.

"Today has been … eventful!" Athos searched for an appropriate word as he did likewise, his hesitation another indication that he was in dire need of rest.

"I admit to being concerned. You were not to be involved in any fighting," the Captain said. "We must think of how we are going to deal with that."

Athos managed a smile. "I thank you for that concern but we both know that there is no possibility in keeping me out of the way in the event of a conflict. We could not have envisaged my being seconded to the Red Guard to command them and we both know I cannot lead them from the back."

Tréville sighed heavily. "This is not what I wanted for you. You would have been safe in Paris."

"I know but I was the one who made life difficult for you and was insistent upon being here in the first place."

"But I was the one who let you come," the Captain insisted. "I know it is a vain hope but try to stay safe; that means not taking any unnecessary risks."

"I will try," Athos agreed, touched by Tréville's ongoing concern for him.

They bade each other goodnight and entered their respective rooms. It was not quite a full moon but there was enough light through the un-shuttered window to cast a ghostly gleam across the room's simple furnishings. There was none of the luxury here that was seen elsewhere in the King's apartment or the accommodation of his more important guests.

He set down the candleholder on the small table by the bed and saw the framed miniature lying there. It depicted a smiling, blond-haired beauty. Planque's wife? Intended? Mistress? Whoever she was, her world was about to come crumbing down around her when she learned of his death.

There was little else to suggest that the room had been occupied by another. The bed was well made, and Athos turned a full circle in the middle of the room before he spied a small sack in a shadowy corner. It felt strange, intrusive even, as he picked it up, loosened the tie and put in his hand. It contained some clean clothes and, at the bottom, a book.

Pulling it out, Athos carried it back to the candle and, sitting on the bed, he opened it.

His first thought was that it was a log maintained by the Captain of the Red Guard and it was now his responsibility to continue it.

Then, as he flicked through its pages, he realised that it was a journal, Planque's private musings.

He had no intention of reading it had it not been for the latter entries where certain words leaped from the page, demanding his attention. Tréville's name was there, and his own, and there was mention of 'rebels'.

As exhausted as he was, Athos moved the candle closer and angling the book for the limited light to fall across it, he began to read.


	104. Chapter 104

_**Greetings, all.**_

_**Thank you for reading and for leaving comments.**_

_**I realised that I forgot to add my 'little gem' yesterday for chapter 103.**_

_**'Minion' – late 15**__**th**__** century from the French 'mignon'. (It sounds too modern to me, although I knew it wasn't primarily related to **__**little yellow, one-eyed cartoon characters!)**_

_**Apologies for any errors that might have slipped through the proof reading.**_

_**So, what was so fascinating about Planque's journal?**_

CHAPTER 104

Planque's journal made for interesting reading, so much so that Athos soon found himself flicking back through earlier entries, the earliest being on the appointment to the Captaincy of the Red Guard.

_Captain of the Cardinal's Red Guard! I know my father has parted with a lot of money to secure this position for me and holds high expectations of me in this role after all the disappointment I have caused him. This is the turning point; I know it, I can feel it. I will not make the mistakes of my predecessor. I will not have favourites, an inner circle of 'friends' to do my bidding, nor will I flout the law, but I will command these men as they deserve to be commanded. I will be strong because their shortcomings are many and this is not always through their own fault. I will mould them so that they are a force to be reckoned with, one that rivals the King's Musketeers in all things. The Cardinal will be proud of them – and of me._

The pride and enthusiasm stood out from the page. Perhaps Planque had been overly idealistic but what had happened to distinguish that genuine and innocent fervour?

Athos read on and it soon became clear from the painful admissions that Planque was out of his depth, his confidence wrecked. He had no idea whom to turn to for guidance and an element of indecisiveness began to rear its head. There were sporadic outbursts of arrogance in the words that suggested he believed he would still be successful in his leadership interspersed with confessions of near panic as he lost the respect of the men who served beneath him.

An acute sense of impending failure was clear in in the middle of the journal and he started to apportion blame elsewhere, laying most of it at the feet of Grenouille.

_This man of no social standing dares to tell me what to do. Who does he think he is? I cannot conceive why the Cardinal made him my second-in-command; he is of no use to me. He repeatedly tells me what I should be doing. He has no right to instruct me! What makes him think he is in a position to tell me how things should be done? He should remain silent until I ask for his opinion and there will never be an occasion where I need to do that. I would never have appointed the man and will take steps to have him removed._

There was none of the working relationship or the trust and friendship that Athos enjoyed with Tréville and he felt a surge of sadness for the Red Guard's lieutenant. He had been truthful then when he told Athos he had repeatedly tried to offer suggestions to the new Captain but had been ignored. It was not long before the situation had further deteriorated.

_The man is impossible. He goes out of his way to spite me and undermine my authority with the men, fomenting discord with his wicked tongue._

Reading Planque's perception of events and his escalating desperation was disconcerting, for Athos could almost hear the plaintive self-justification that had been pronounced by L'Hernault. The entries from the moment when the Captain had been told to prepare to lead a large section of the regiment to Versailles and that he was to defer to Tréville's leadership became even more disturbing.

Vitriolic insults poured out onto the page, some were still pertaining to Grenouille but the vast majority were directed at the Musketeer Captain, bringing into question his age, mental capacity, physical ability to lead effectively, likely bias in favour of the Musketeers and overall loyalty to France. All were unfounded and irrational, but Athos felt his anger rising with regards to the dead man who clearly thought he should have been given the opportunity to demonstrate his skills, those same skills he had already professed to lacking earlier in the journal.

The same entries began to mention the rebel nobles, at first condemning them but rapidly taking on a more sympathetic tone. From his claims, it was evident that Planque was the second son of a fairly prosperous noble and although he was not destined to inherit his father's title and estate, he had every intention of being supportive to his older brother. He had also been schooled in preparation to assume the role should anything unfortunate happen to that same brother. They had obviously had plenty of family discussions as to what was required of them with regards to taxation and difficulties in combining their responsibilities to both the crown and their estate.

As the journal's entries neared the departure date for Versailles, Planque's allegiance to King and Cardinal grew increasingly dubious until the last account written in Paris which finally damned the man.

_So I am not to be trusted with the finer points until we reach Versailles! I am fed details piecemeal by the arrogant Musketeer Captain; even Richelieu cannot be bothered to speak with me. If they and their marionette monarch – for it is Richelieu that manipulates the strings – have not the decency to hold discourse with the true nobility of this land, is it any wonder that the seeds of insurrection are sown? _

_I am apparently not reliable enough to see a list of those under suspicion. Perhaps they thought that I might communicate with the insurgents and reveal the trap laid bare for them. Perhaps, at the beginning, I might have been dependable, but I have had time for careful thought, and I can see now that the worries of my father and brother have justification. Had they been aware of this petition and the prospect of rebellion, I am sure they would have allied themselves to protect what is rightfully theirs. I wonder that they were not approached. _

_My decision is made; I will align myself to the protest on their behalf and must, therefore, do whatever lies within my power to facilitate a victory for the protesters for I cannot see the stiff-backed Louis bending to their petition. He has faced many threats to his rule, not least from his mother, brother and the Huguenots and he would respond to the nobles as he did with them; he is a man fond of violence, swayed by the First Minister and pandered to by Tr__éville._

_To that end, I have acted to create unrest amongst the Red Guard. They show me no loyalty so why should I be concerned for them? That fool Grenouille is persistent in offering me his 'advice'. According to him, I have not ordered enough food, weapons or ammunition for the numbers going to Versailles. I was not even permitted to choose my own men. I was issued with a list of those suitable by Richelieu himself! What is a Captain if he is not allowed to select his own force? It was just another means of emasculating me in the eyes of those I supposedly lead._

_So I deliberately refrained from ordering sufficient supplies in the hope that it would nurture unrest of a different sort. Nor have I stressed the punishments that would follow if the Red Guard and Musketeers persist in their bitter rivalry. All the better for my purpose if they incapacitate each other. It weakens the regiments._

_I deliberated whether I should commit my thoughts to paper like this, but in the aftermath of the conflict, when the rebels are the victors, this dated document is the evidence of my commitment to their cause and what I have undertaken to aid their triumph._

Athos felt sick at what he read of Planque's treacherous machinations and the fact that he was prepared to use and abuse the Cardinal's men in this fashion. The afternoon's fracas between the two regiments was all part of his plan and it was ironic that he did not live long enough to see it. There was further irony in that he had been accidentally killed by someone who was, in effect, 'on the same side.'

There was one last entry, written in a hasty scrawl sometime after Planque's first encounter with Athos which had culminated in his aggressive warning. It was clear that he was aggrieved by the Musketeer lieutenant knowing more than he did and resented the suggestion by Richelieu that he – Athos – was something of a hero. The contempt vented at Athos did not bother him; he had faced that and more in his time and he felt a stab of strange satisfaction that he had had such a negative effect upon the man.

Now he had to decide whether to wake Tréville and tell him what he had found or leave it until the morning. It did not take him long.

When he tapped on the Captain's door, he anticipated having to repeat the action and was therefore a little stunned when there was the immediate sound of movement within the room. Tréville opened the door. He had removed his doublet and boots and his hair awry, but it was clear that he had only settled on the bed's coverlet and had not yet extinguished the candle.

"You cannot sleep either," he stated, not in the least surprised to discover Athos in the doorway.

"Not when I found this," the younger man said, holding out the book.

"What is it?"

"Planque's journal," Athos explained, "and it makes for interesting reading."

_**Today's little gems:**_

_**Emasculate – c1600 from the Latin verb 'emasculare'**_

'_**to pander to' – as a verb, this originated in the early 17**__**th**__** century.**_


	105. Chapter 105

_**Thank you for reading and commenting upon the last chapter.**_

_**So, the big day dawns and there is much to do! **_

CHAPTER 105

I

With the habit of many years, Tréville rose, poured cold water from a jug into a bowl set on a dresser for just such a purpose and splashed his face. He hoped that the chill of the water might bring him fully awake as it had been a very short night. Stifling a yawn, he straightened the bed's covering before pulling on his boots and donning his doublet and belt. Glancing sideways, he saw the journal lying open in the middle of a table where he left it once he had finished reading it.

He gave a wry smile. Sitting at the table, tousled head cushioned on his arms, was Athos, sound asleep. Tréville thought back to the early hours; whilst he read, Athos had been commenting on the entries until it had gone unexpectedly silent. Looking up, Tréville saw him in this same position; such was the young man's exhaustion, he had not moved.

Keeping the table between them, Tréville reached across and shook Athos lightly by the shoulder. There was no response and he frowned. Athos was a notoriously light sleeper, usually alert and at battle readiness in an instant. Tréville knew from experience that you woke soldiers like Athos very carefully but, fortunately, his weapons were safely in his room next door. Even so, startling him awake could result in his lashing out with a well-placed fist.

"Athos, wake up. Time to get moving, son," and Tréville shook him again, a little more forcefully this time.

His efforts were rewarded by a groan and flickering eyelids. Athos slowly unfolded himself, groaning again at the movement and clearly fighting to open his eyes properly and focus on the world.

"I tried to rouse you to go back to your own bed, but you were in such a deep sleep that I gave up and left you there. You'll be very stiff, I fear," Tréville said as Athos began rolling his shoulders and arching his back.

Athos raked his fingers through his tangled hair and spied the journal. "What did you think of what he had to say for himself?"

"It explains a lot and I shall endeavour not to look too pleased when I hand it to Richelieu to read," Tréville confessed.

"Perhaps the Cardinal will be a little more careful when he appoints his next Captain," Athos said as, like the Captain had done before him, he crossed to the bowl and scooped up handfuls of water to shock himself into wakefulness.

"He obviously gave you some thought," Tréville said, throwing the towel at Athos as the younger man dripped water over the floor.

"It was probably more out of sheer desperation," Athos retorted, deftly catching the towel one-handed and wiping his face. He was aware of Tréville watching him, "And please do not tell me that I look rough."

"I wasn't going to," the Captain chuckled. "You look far worse than that."

Athos attempted a withering glare but failed. "With that note of confidence, we had better go and visit the camps. I just need to pick up my weapons."

"I'll bring this," Tréville added, picking up the book from the table.

They were striding across the grass in the early morning light, sounds emanating from the camps reassuring them that the men were on the move.

"It is just as well that I did not share the names of the rebel nobles with Planque," Tréville reflected.

"By not knowing who was involved, he was unable to make contact with them and warn them."

"Which is fortunate for us. Perhaps it is better things have turned out this way. He is dead and will avoid being charged with treason," the Captain declared.

"I do not understand how he thought that he would get away with it. He blindly hoped that the rebels would have the supremacy of numbers and the ultimate victory. Then he could admit to what he had done and his bit of support. It is no wonder that the men of the Red Guard are so unsettled when they have had little clear leadership and are resentful when they see what is happening within the Musketeers." Athos glanced at the Captain but retained a neutral expression. "We are better organised because we have the stricter leader."

Tréville huffed. "Make sure you remember that in future. I have developed more than my fair share of grey hairs thanks to the antics of you four." He was meaning the _Inseparables _but before Athos could think of a witty response, he changed the subject. "Do I detect a growing sympathy and warmth for the Cardinal's men?"

"Perhaps some sympathy and definite understanding. You will have to give me more time to consider the 'warmth' aspect," Athos replied.

"Did you find the opportunity to speak with Serge?" The Captain halted for they had reached a point where the parting of the ways was necessary.

"Briefly, when I was on my way back from the Red Guard camp to see the others."

"And was he amenable to your suggestion?"

Athos snorted. "Eventually, once my ears had been assaulted by all his reasons _not _to help."

"That sounds like him. Anyway, I see the Musketeers are mustering for me; I must go and give them their orders. I will see you back at Richelieu's office in an hour, or do you think you will need longer?

Athos shook his head, "An hour is adequate. The men have to have time to reach a state of preparedness."

II

With the exception of those who had taken up the morning's duties, the remaining Red Guard were arrayed in four straight lines and Athos made his way between them, inspecting uniforms and weapons, whilst Grenouille followed closely, clutching a piece of paper and a graphite stick wrapped in string to take the names of any man who had not heeded his earlier warning and who fell short of Athos' exacting standards.

Inspection complete, Athos stood before them on a small rise in the ground; his expression gave nothing away but he was not averse to giving praise where praise was due.

"I thank you, gentlemen, for your prompt attendance at muster and that you are so well turned-out. I am also pleased to see that your weapons are equally well-maintained. There has been no need to take any man's name. I am now at liberty to explain why we are here and to give you orders."

And so he explained – all about the rebel nobles, where they were camped, the impending meeting between the King and Menier and the likely outcome. He told them to be ready in the event of an attack and to remain in camp until given the signal to take up their posts. The first duty change of the day had already happened so there was no reason for anyone to leave the area. Somehow, he had found the time to write down instructions for Grenouille and he waited patiently as the man read out the specific orders detailing where men were to be positioned and those designated to those posts.

"Are there any questions concerning anything you have just been told? Any instruction that is unclear?" Athos was met with silence, although some of the men nodded their understanding.

"Just two more things then before I leave you to make ready," he said. "Before you move, Grenouille will distribute the shot and powder." He raised a hand and signalled beyond the Guards. A grumble rippled through them as they saw several Musketeers approaching, all carrying something.

"You will each be allocated additional ammunition for your supply was limited."

The resentful expressions and mumbled complaints gave way to genuine surprise that Musketeer stores were being shared with them, enabling them to protect themselves as well as the lodge for a longer period. Several ammunition boxes were set down by Athos' feet but that did not account for all the newcomers for some still stood to one side and holding boxes.

"As to yesterday's fight with the King's men," Athos began, satisfied that some looked sheepish as others shifted uncomfortably, "that was inexcusable and there is to be no repetition of that, do you hear me? Anyone causing trouble will be court-martialled on our return to Paris and when found guilty, they will be dismissed from the regiment. There is no place for such behaviour at this time of tension."

He let his words sink in and hoped the men had picked up on his use of 'when' found guilty, rather than 'if'.

"However," he continued, "having reviewed the supplies you brought with you, I find you seriously wanting in provisions as well as equipment. For that, you are not to be held accountable. I have, therefore, made arrangements," and he indicated again for Serge and the others with him to step forward.

"I have agreed with Captain Tréville that what you have brought with you will be assimilated into the Musketeer supplies and, whilst we are here at Versailles, you will also be catered for by Serge and his helpers.

"So, gentlemen," and here Athos' lips twitched into what passed for him as a smile, "I do not wish to have hungry men serving under me today. You may break your fast now but make sure that you are ready for when I return. Dismissed!"

The Red Guard actually cheered and hastened to surround Serge and the other men, so they completely disappeared in the melée. Then, just as suddenly and without anyone taking the lead, they formed two orderly lines to file past the Musketeer cook and his assistants as warm bread, hard cheese, cold meat and fruit were handed out. There were also two pots of hot porridge made with butter and water. Back in his own kitchen at the Paris garrison, Serge would have use milk but they had not brought livestock with them to provide that.

Grenouille stood in amazement, his mouth open.

"Anything wrong?" Athos asked drily.

"Nothin'," Grenouille said, shaking his head. "You're full of surprises, you are. I can't 'elp wonderin' what you're goin' to do next."


	106. Chapter 106

_**Thank you for reading and leaving comments yesterday. **_

_**Today, Athos continues to bring the Red Guard to order and Gaston is worried that his brother suspects him!**_

CHAPTER 106

I

"Thank you," Athos said quietly as he stood at Serge's shoulder.

"You're welcome," was the gruff reply.

"Am I forgiven for creating all this extra work for you?"

In answer, Serge summoned up what he thought was a menacing scowl, but he could not maintain it and, instead, he grinned.

"I can make the best of a bad lot. Luckily, two or three of the men offered to help lighten the load. Just don't be expectin' a feast tonight though; it'll be pottage with some mutton." He looked out at the Red Guard who had settled onto the ground to eat. "They seem 'appy enough which sort of makes it all worth it an' if it 'elps make your life a bit easier, then I'd say it's all to the good."

"I owe you," Athos responded.

"I'll take it as paid back if you get this down you, lad," and Serge handed over a chunk of bread and cold meat.

"I think I can manage that," and Athos walked off, waving the bread in farewell but he did not start eating immediately.

Instead, he walked among the men and was pleased when the majority greeted him first as he approached, many of them thanking him for securing the food. He spoke to all of them, either individually or as they sat in their small groups. Recognising some from his round on the previous evening, he acknowledged them and briefly spared time for the colleagues they introduced to him. He knew from the eyes watching him that he was the subject of several conversations and he hoped the comments were not damning.

In one group, there was a surly soldier sporting a black eye.

"That looks painful. How did it happen?" he asked, keeping his voice light but the man refused to make eye contact and remained silent.

"The Captain asked you a question. The food you're eatin' is on account of 'im. You'll show 'im some respect by givin' 'im an answer," Grenouille growled ominously. He had come to stand a few feet away, listening in to the exchange.

Still not looking up, the man muttered something, but Athos caught the words "spoke out of turn." He looked at the others sitting there with the man.

"Is there anyone in the regiment with medical knowledge?"

"No, Captain. Just what we've learned as we go along," one of the men answered. He was probably of similar age to Athos but his long, thin hair was already streaked with grey.

"Your name is?" Athos demanded.

"Rohmer, Sir."

"Well, Rohmer, spread the word that if there are any medical issues you cannot deal with yourselves, send word to me through Grenouille here. It does not matter how small the problem."

"So your Musketeer friend can come and play physician," the surly man grumbled.

"Shut it, Tirel," warned Grenouille.

"You wantin' your other eye blacked?" a third man in the group asked.

Athos hooked his thumbs into his belt. "It is fine, gentlemen; thank you." His eyes narrowed as he looked down on Tirel but his voice did not change. "You might be glad of his assistance before the day is out, Tirel; I only hope, for your sake, that it is unnecessary. Aramis may well have not had specific training, but he has had plenty of practice and reads widely on the subject. He is a good field medic. A physician has accompanied the King, but he has absolutely no experience of battle injuries. If I were to be injured later today, I know whom I would prefer to have tending me. The choice is entirely yours, unless you are unconscious of course, but if your feelings against him are so strong, I dare say one of your friends here will remember your wish and prevent Aramis from treating you."

As Athos expected, Tirel had nothing to say for himself but did have the decency to look ashamed, especially when his friends started sniggering.

The new Red Guard Captain continued on his way, answering the occasional questions that had occurred to the men since the briefing.

"So what was the reason for Tirel's black eye?" Athos wanted to know when he and Grenouille had completed a circuit of the men. He had his suspicions and he was not disappointed.

"He spoke disrespectfully about you, Captain," Grenouille explained.

"I trust you were not responsible for administering such a swift but unorthodox punishment."

Grenouille laughed. "If I'd 'eard 'im, it might've crossed my mind. No, that black eye's a present from one of the men on duty that you spoke to last night an' I'm thinkin' that with the way you've just dealt with 'im, you shouldn't 'ave any more trouble from anyone."

II

The Duc d'Orleans was waiting impatiently in the corridor outside the room where Allaire was being held prisoner. He had slept little, thinking about what the day might bring and his involvement in it.

Gaston was worried about L'Hernault's part in the proceedings and his fixation with the Musketeer who had infiltrated the meeting. The noble was a liability, having murdered the wrong man, and it was imperative for the Duc to distance himself. He was painfully aware that he had been excluded from the discussions between his brother, the First Minister and Captain Tréville and this concerned him, convinced as he was that they knew more about the plot than they were admitting.

Foolishly, he had declared L'Hernault a friend when speaking with the Cardinal the previous evening and it was an easy step to assume that the murderer was Gaston's man at the Troyes gathering. The Musketeer had successfully reached Paris and made his report; he would have heard from L'Hernault's own lips that Gaston was prepared to move men through France, the major point the Duc had omitted to tell his brother and which condemned him outright as a traitor unless …

When the solution came to mind, he was hard-pressed to subdue his excitement, but he needed Allaire as a matter of urgency to bring his decision to fruition.

The Musketeer on guard had refused to release the prisoner until he had the authorisation from Richelieu and Gaston had made such a nuisance of himself that the soldier had sent to the Cardinal for that permission. Richelieu had been at his most maddening, stalling for an hour before he sent an affirmative response.

Allaire looked unkempt and shaken by his night under lock and key, although his improvised cell had been far better than anything available in the notorious prisons of Paris and it had not taken him long to appreciate that fact. Deprived of sleep, he was grey and gaunt after only a few hours' incarceration.

At first, he was pleasantly surprised that the Duc was waiting for him but as he was hurried up the main stairs and into the Duc's rooms, he realised that there was an ulterior motive. Warily he sat and watched as Gaston poured him a watered wine.

"Nothing stronger for you have work to do," the Duc informed him, holding out the goblet.

Allaire took it and sipped the contents, conscious that his hands were shaking as a result of his experience.

"And what work might that be?" he asked tentatively.

"I need you to be ready to ride to my camps as soon as the meeting between Louis and Menier is concluded."

"To give the order to attack?" Allaire wanted to know.

Gaston shook his head, a sly grin spreading across his face. "In a way, but not as you would expect."

Allaire looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"It is quite simple," the Duc declared. "We are going to change sides!"


	107. Chapter 107

_**Greetings, hope this finds you all well. Thank you for reading and leaving conmments.**_

_**So, Gaston is about to change sides, is he?**_

CHAPTER 107

I

"What are you talking about?" Allaire could not hide his horror.

"I have been thinking. With L'Hernault's behaviour and the existence of this annoying Musketeer spy, my dear brother is probably fully aware of my men waiting outside Versailles. That is enough to earn me – us - the charge of treason."

"Us?" Allaire's colour drained away.

"But of course. You have been my messenger throughout all this. You said yourself that you had a Musketeer shadow whilst in Paris so you must already be under suspicion and last night's incarceration will have done you no favours. Let me assure you that if I were to be brought down at the end of this, I will make sure that I take you down with me," Gaston threatened. He poured himself a drink and smiled as he carried on.

"But I have thought of a way around this problem. It is well that I divulged the plan to the King in the first place. It indicates good intentions, does it not? It was an unfortunate oversight on my part that I omitted to inform him that I had also brought armed men to support him against the nobles. I will apologise profusely, of course."

"And you expect him to believe you?" Allaire was incredulous at the weak reasoning.

"But of course! How can he do otherwise when my men visibly fight on the side of the royal cause? How can he prove treachery?"

Still dubious, Allaire concentrated upon drinking his wine.

"The meeting between my brother and Menier will not go well and events will be set in motion. I anticipate that an attack will follow swiftly on the conclusion of that encounter, so you are going to have to ride hard. I suggest that you have your horse saddled in readiness before that meeting ends. You will inform the men that they are to fight on the side of the King.

"Instruct them to hang back. Let the nobles and their men lead the assault and then come in behind them. They will have nowhere to go."

II

Athos had just left the camp and was returning to the lodge when he saw Tréville waiting for him, so he quickened his pace, chewing on the bread and meat as he walked.

He swallowed his mouthful and wiped his lips with the back of his hand when he reached the Captain. "I thought we were meeting at the Cardinal's office."

"We were, but I had concluded briefing the Musketeers and was on my way back when I saw you. How did it go with the Red Guard?"

"It went well," Athos replied. "They were punctual for the muster; uniforms and weapons were as they should be, and they were all given their orders without a hitch."

"And the little surprises you arranged for them?"

"If they were impressed with the additional shot and powder, they bordered on ecstatic with Serge's food."

Tréville chuckled at the strange mental image the description evoked.

Athos went on, "They seemed relieved, thankful even, to have some order. Things have been somewhat shambolic for them of late. They are certainly unused to being inspected so thoroughly. _Most_ of them appreciated it though." He was remembering Tirel's negativity.

"All the Musketeers know what they are doing. I am sending d'Artagnan and Porthos to rally the allies. Before he takes up position on the top floor, I've got Aramis moving medical supplies inside the lodge on the ground floor. It will be better for any wounded and avoids the problem of supplies being destroyed in the attack. Do the Red Guard have anything with them?"

Athos was mortified. "I did not think to ask. My apologies. It was remiss of me. There is time before Menier arrives; I could go back and ask Grenouille."

"No, no, no. There is time for that after the meeting. Don't admonish yourself too much. You have managed to think of plenty so far. I have overlooked things myself on more than one occasion."

"I find that difficult to believe," Athos said, and he meant it.

Tréville's eyes widened. "I am touched by your faith in me, but I assure you that I am far from perfect." He gave a wry smile. "Why do you think I made you my lieutenant."

Now it was Athos' turn to smile. "I like to think that we complement each other in our approach to things."

"Indeed we do. Now, we have some time before Menier arrives. What say you to upsetting the Cardinal by letting him see Planque's journal?"

III

The two officers stood at ease side by side and refrained from making any eye contact with each other as they watched the Cardinal's reaction change with each turn of the page.

Initially, he had refused to look at the book until Tréville pressed him and added one or two cryptic comments regarding the contents in order to tempt the churchman.

They waited in silence as he read on, his face initially blanching as he first saw the man's dalliance with treachery. For several minutes, the Cardinal was devoid of any colour save for his black clothing and iron grey hair. Then his face took on an astonishingly red hue; it can only have been when he realised the potentially catastrophic decision that he had made in his appointment of Planque as Captain. He was rapidly apoplectic when the journal gave up the full extent of the man's betrayal.

"My men go hungry and are ill-prepared to fight," he ground out. "The King is endangered because of my ill-placed trust."

At this point, Athos and Tréville glanced at each other; the Musketeer Captain nodded at the younger man to speak.

"There is no cause for alarm, Your Eminence," Athos began, his tone one of calm reassurance. "The men have been given additional ammunition and fed well this morning. Captain Tréville and I have addressed the issue."

"Credit where credit's due," Tréville insisted. "It was all the idea of Athos here. I just facilitated it."

It was some time before Richelieu would look at either of them and then he cleared his throat.

"It seems that I am indebted to you both and you in particular, Captain Athos. I will, of course, make full reparation to the Musketeer regiment on our return to Paris, Tréville."

It was a grudging acknowledgement of what had been done for his men and his mouth was set in a strange expression, as if he had just sucked upon a half lemon.

Tréville's head dipped. "I thank you, Cardinal."

Athos risked glancing at the officer and saw the twitch of the moustache, the amused glint in blue eyes. Tréville was savouring every second of the Cardinal's humiliation but was too much of a gentleman to openly gloat at the powerful man's discomfort by making caustic comment.

A knock at the door saved Richelieu.

"Come!" he ordered.

A servant entered and bowed.

"His Majesty is ready, Cardinal."

Richelieu looked towards the ornate clock on the mantel over the fire and pulled out his personal time piece to double check the findings.

"It is nearly the appointed hour, gentlemen. I suggest we wait upon the King."


	108. Chapter 108

_**Dear all,**_

_**Happy Saturday (I've got the day right! Knowing where I am in the week is proving a little problematic these days. By Tuesday, I thought I'd reached another weekend already, thought yesterday was Saturday and, when I opened my eyes this morning, I thought it was Friday. I do get myself sorted as the day - whichever it is - progresses!)**_

_**So, it's all kicking off now. Thanks for reading and leaving comments yesyerday.**_

CHAPTER 108

I

Menier, accompanied by four men, arrived shortly ahead of the nine o'clock meeting, his approach to the front of the lodge measured and unhurried. Grooms rushed from the direction of the stables to hold the horses' heads as the riders dismounted.

Slapping down his clothing to remove the dust from the road, Menier re-arranged his cloak around him and adjusted his hat, giving him time to survey the building. Apart from the few Musketeers guarding the entrance and positioned at regular intervals along the lodge's exterior- as he expected – another was sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree, hat pulled down low over his eyes.

Satisfied that all appeared normal, he and his companions entered through the main doors that were being held open for them by the two men on duty there.

As soon as the doors closed behind the newcomers, one of the Musketeers looked across at the man beneath the tree and nodded.

Aramis pushed his hat back and got to his feet with an easy grace, whistling a signal as he did so.

Porthos and d'Artagnan were the first to appear, leading their saddled mounts. Close after them were nearly thirty Musketeers, all fully armed, but they remained in the lee of the wing as the two _Inseparables _moved on to join their brother.

"All set?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis nodded towards the section of the lodge where their colleagues waited patiently. "Claude and I moved all our medical supplies across to that wing; we have been allocated three adjacent rooms. I hope and pray we will not be needing any more. The servants have been instructed to move palliasses in there and to find some bedding. What about you?"

"We're ready to ride to the allies as soon as Tréville gives us the word," Porthos answered.

"How long do you think it'll take you?" Aramis wanted to know.

"It's not too far as we found the other day and we'll be ridin' at full speed. The nobles'll be waitin' for news so I'm hopin' they're all together in one place, otherwise d'Artagnan and me'll split up an' go round as many as we can, leavin' 'em to pass the word to the rest. We should be back within the hour."

"By which time you'll probably be in position on the top floor," d'Artagnan added.

"And you two will be in the main body facing the rebels."

Porthos grinned. "Better bein' involved there than guardin' a door. Besides, I've been thinkin'. Out in the open, I might be able to see where Athos has put himself an' get as close as I can. That's if I can't see that Grenouille."

"Have either of you seen Athos this morning?" Aramis looked from one to the other of them.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Serge saw him to speak to when he took food to the Red Guard. He said he looked pale and tired but was in good spirits."

"'E'll be in that meetin' now."

Aramis looked past them to the waiting Musketeers. "They're ready to go in and make the arrests?"

"Tréville wants to send a clear message to the nobles. That's three to four men for each arrest an' all the exits are guarded so no-one can escape."

"Some of the men positioned inside the lodge will take Menier," d'Artagnan added.

"We'd better be ready out here then," Aramis went on. "He's got four men with him, enough to cause trouble when things go against them."

II

Gaston and Allaire had settled themselves on an upholstered bench in the vast entrance hall. It was an ideal position for them for they could see the main doors and witnessed Menier's arrival, greeting him with slight dips of the head before the rebel leader was admitted to the room for an audience with the King.

"Now all we can do is wait," Gaston muttered, surveying the hall and noting where there were guards. "You have done what I said and prepared your horse to ride?"

"It's saddled and tethered out by the nearest exit. There was a lot of activity out at the stables," Allaire reported.

"What sort of activity?"

"A group of Musketeers were saddling all of their animals and leaving them ready."

"They are all set to pursue the rebels if need be," Gaston noted. "In that event, the malcontents will find themselves trapped between the King's regiment and my men." He smiled but it appeared as a cruel grimace. "I am convinced that our little change of plan is all for the best."

III

The meeting between the rebel leader and Louis of France was exceedingly brief.

The only sign of respect that Menier gave the King was a mere bend of the neck in acknowledgement rather than the deeper bow protocol demanded. His associates followed his example.

"Your Majesty, I have brought you a petition outlining the grievances of a number of your loyal nobles. We would ask that you read them and give assurances that you will consider our recommendations."

He held out the rolled document but was not invited to venture any closer to hand it directly to Louis. He looked at Richelieu for some guidance, but the First Minister did not move. Instead, Tréville stepped forward to take it and handed it to the Cardinal, who stared hard at Menier whilst making no attempt to pass it to the King.

It was an awkward silence.

"You and the other men with you would describe yourselves as loyal," Louis stated.

"We would, Your Majesty," Menier immediately responded.

"And yet you come before us to deliver a list of – how did you put it? – grievances?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And you would have us review these petitions and expect us to act upon them?"

Menier straightened his back, an edge creeping into his voice at the monarch's apparent procrastination. "That is the idea, Your Majesty."

"And yet you did not think your petition important enough to bring it to the palace in Paris."

Menier ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them in the first indication of his unease. He stood in silence.

"Instead, you have interrupted a private gathering here at Versailles and to what end, I wonder? Could it possibly be that you anticipated that we would not be so well guarded here?"

"Your Majesty …" Menier began.

"You do not interrupt the King," Richelieu hissed at him.

Louis waved an airy hand as if the breach of protocol were insignificant which, in the scheme of things, it was.

"You must have been anticipating that your petition would not be well received, otherwise you would not have gathered an army about you. Do not think of denying it."

"Your Majesty," Menier began again, but Louis abruptly rose to his feet.

"Even had I the mind to consider your proposal, I would not do so when you feel it necessary to arm yourself against your King. In case you are living under some kind of misapprehension, permit me to enlighten you; the King of France will not be threatened into giving in to the demands of the nobles."

Menier gave up all pretence of obeisance at that moment. "Your brother, the Duc d'Orleans, is involved with us."

If he had thought to make a dramatic revelation, he was mistaken.

Louis dared to laugh. "I know that. It was my brother who came to tell me about the plot."

"I should have guessed that he was the one who betrayed us," Menier spat out. "But did he tell you that he was the first to proffer men in support of us?"

The King lost his humour, his expression cold as he suppressed his fury. "He refrained from informing us of that fact but, fortunately, we had other ways of gathering our information," and he sank back down onto his chair, perching on its very edge. "Captain!"

Tréville and Athos had positioned themselves off to one side and both knew that Menier had not really taken any notice of their presence. Now the Musketeer Captain touched the elbow of his counterpart in the Red Guard and gestured to him to move forward.

Menier's head turned to study the new individual and his eyes widened in recognition. "You!" he gasped.

"Meet the Musketeer Athos," Richelieu introduced him, unable to mask his delight at the shock on Menier's face. "He infiltrated your meeting but only because we already had intelligence of the impending gathering at Troyes. Let me give you a piece of free advice, Menier. Be more circumspect in the company you keep and the ones you would trust. Now, Tréville."

The Captain signalled to his men guarding the doors which they threw open and Musketeers flooded in, weapons at the ready, to surround the five rebels.

"Arrest them all!" Louis demanded. "The charge is treason."


	109. Chapter 109

_**Happy Sunday!**_

_**Thank you for reading and reviewing yesterday**_

CHAPTER 109

I

Musketeers moved to either side of Menier and seized him by the arms. He resisted and dug in his heels just long enough to make his final pronouncement.

"Arresting me will not stop what is to come," Menier yelled at the King. "We knew you would dismiss the petition. If I have not returned by noon, it is agreed that the attack will begin anyway!"

"Get him out of here!" Richelieu ordered.

As the five men were marched away, Louis turned panicked eyes on the Cardinal and the two Captains.

"What are we to do?" he asked worriedly. "Arresting Menier has not stopped the revolt."

"Which is exactly what we envisaged, Sire," Richelieu assured him. Everything is in place to proceed. If you will allow me, I will escort you to your chambers and ensure that you are comfortable and safe as Captain Tréville gives the order to make everything ready."

Unlike the nobles, Athos and Tréville bowed low as Louis was ushered out of one door.

"This is it then," Athos said simply when the two men were left alone.

"Yes, it is. Let's go and put all our plans into action." Tréville extended a hand. "Good luck, Captain," he said solemnly.

Athos took the hand, shook it warmly and allowed himself the ghost of a smile. "You too, Captain."

II

As Menier emerged from the main hall in the grip of two Musketeers, he spied Gaston sitting to one side and began to struggle in his fury.

"Traitor!" he shouted. "You won't get away with this!"

His guards continued to drag him across the entrance hall to the corridor housing the rooms that had been set aside for the prisoners. All the time, he screamed his defiance.

"I told the King all about you bringing men, that you were the first to offer us support. He'll see you for what you are."

He was still shouting as he was taken from sight.

Gaston looked thoughtful whilst Allaire was definitely bothered.

"How are you going to convince your brother that you are not a traitor?" he asked.

"In exactly the manner that I outlined to you, but it will not happen if you do not get out of here and reach the camps before the attack is launched. I am going to see Louis," Gaston said irritably. As he walked off to visit the royal chambers, he wished that he could feel as confident as he tried to sound.

Allaire watched him go before he turned to head out of the nearest exit. It took him past the corridor down which the prisoners had been taken, the same corridor where he had been held overnight and L'Hernault was still incarcerated. He paused to watch what was happening.

The new prisoners were pushed into three rooms, only Menier deemed important enough to be imprisoned in solitude. Allaire watched as the doors were locked and all keys handed to the one Musketeer who had been on guard since daylight. Allaire flattened himself against the wall as the men came briskly out into the entrance hall and met Tréville and Athos, who had just exited the room where the King had received Menier.

Allaire thought back to the interrogation he had undergone the previous day and felt a surge of pure hatred towards the two men; enough that he was prepared to do anything to make life difficult for them and he suddenly had an idea. He would not incur the Duc's wrath by doing anything that might inhibit Gaston's plans to swear his allegiance to the King so the new prisoners would have to remain where they were. Allaire sympathised with the nobles and was not happy with Gaston's change of heart, nor was he convinced that the King would believe the demonstration of loyalty, but he knew exactly what he could do to introduce a little unexpected chaos into proceedings. It would, of course, depend on how resolute L'Hernault remained in his desire for revenge upon the one called Athos.

One lone Musketeer remained in the corridor; one man who held all the keys.

It should not prove too difficult as long as he acted quickly.

III

Tréville and Athos led the Musketeers outside where they were joined by Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan and the large group who had been waiting.

"Menier and the men with him have been arrested," Tréville informed them. "The attack will be at noon. The rebels had arranged that if Menier did not return by that time, they would carry out their plans regardless. Porthos, d'Artagnan, off you go."

They mounted, touching their hats in a farewell gesture to the two Captains.

"Men, you know those you have to arrest now. Go and get them," ordered Tréville and most of the men ran towards main entrance. He signalled to another two soldiers.

"Go back to the camp and make sure they have finished the distribution of weapons and ammunition. Any personal possessions must be removed to what was the weapons cart in case the rebels destroy the camp in their attack; they might ride through it or even torch it to create a distraction. Tell the men to get to their positions as soon as they can and wait; we have less than three hours. I will remain here at the lodge for the time being if you have need of me. Otherwise, I shall join the body of you behind the lodge in advance of the attack."

He turned to Aramis. "You have all you need?"

The marksman nodded. "The others are gathering weapons together at the camp. Now you have given the word, they will be here shortly, and we will get ourselves settled."

It had been arranged that he and two others would act as marksmen on the upper floor, each with a colleague to keep muskets and pistols primed for them so that they could maintain a constant barrage of fire upon those now considered the enemy.

"I must go to the Red Guard and give them the order to take up their places," Athos said.

"Take care, both of you," Aramis entreated them.

"You too," Tréville responded. "Until later, gentlemen."

And he was gone, leaving the two friends to have a last few moments together.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Aramis asked worriedly.

"Still a little tired but I am fine. You must not worry about me today; you have other things to think on."

"I will always have time to worry about you, my friend; such is my lot in life!"

Their eyes lit up with gentle amusement.

"You are being overdramatic," Athos chastised him softly. "As always!"

"Any pain?"

"Just a dull ache; it is bearable."

"You still have the pain draft I gave you yesterday though."

When Athos failed to answer, Aramis sighed. "You used it yesterday. I knew you must have been suffering when I saw the bruising. As you are heading back to the camps, I can walk with you and fetch you some more."

Athos shook his head. "No, I really am fine. You must stay here and make ready."

There was a pause as the two dear friends studied each other. Aramis was the first to move, extending a hand and pulling Athos into an embrace.

"You look after yourself," Athos, unresisting, whispered tohim.

They broke apart.

"Now what trouble can I get myself into in a room on the top floor?" Aramis joked.

Athos gave him a withering glare. "If there is trouble to be found, I guarantee that you will find it."

"Mmm," Aramis was not so sure as he stroked his beard. "I think that claim is more applicable to you with all that has happened to you in recent days."

"Things will be back to normal soon," Athos said to reassure him. "We will return to Paris with the King safe and sound; I will return to the Musketeers and we four can return to the Wren to celebrate."

"And the first drink will be on you."

"I will insist upon it," Athos agreed, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezing it fondly in farewell.

Aramis, touched by the rare displays of affection, stood and watched him walk across the grass and round the side of the lodge towards the Red Guard camp.

Shouts were suddenly heard at the main entrance, attracting Aramis' attention. Several Musketeers were shouting and gesticulating and then one ran towards him.

Alarmed, he wondered if they had seen the rebels approaching much earlier than anticipated and scolded himself for harbouring such a fanciful notion. "What is it? What's wrong?" he demanded as the Musketeer reached him.

"Prisoner … escaped," the other man gasped.

"Prisoner? Which prisoner?" A chill ran down his spine.

"The one arrested yesterday." The Musketeer was regaining enough breath to string more words together.

Horrified, Aramis looked from the soldier to the side of the building where he had last seen his friend.

"Athos!" he murmured and broke into a desperate run.


	110. Chapter 110

_**Happy Monday!**_

_**Thank you for reading and leaving comments. Thanks especially to the Guest who is keen for Allaire to meet a nasty end like L'Hernault! You are, it seems, not alone in wanting Grenouille to survive.**_

CHAPTER 110

I

As Athos neared the Red Guard camp, he could see the giant that was Grenouille supervising the work. He was gesticulating wildly, pointing at things and Athos could hear the deep booming timbre of the man as he shouted instructions, although his words remained indistinct. It was both pleasing and reassuring to see the hive of activity that responded to the directives.

Athos frowned, at once chastising himself. Given the long-standing rivalry between the two regiments that often resulted in brawls, it was an easy but dangerous mistake to label all the men of the Red Guard as ignorant, beer-swilling, fight-loving reprobates. Yes, some may have been failed applicants to the Musketeers and subsequently embittered, but their number also included the younger sons of nobles, just as there were amongst Tréville's men. They were, when all was said and done, trained soldiers, although it was widely accepted their instruction did not shape them to the same skilled extent as the King's élite group of chosen men.

The Cardinal might not have a direct involvement with the day-to-day running of the Guard and he may only have created his own regiment to have men duty-bound to do his bidding, but he had made some unfortunate choices in those promoted to positions of authority within his man-power. Athos could not bring himself to accept that Richelieu, the First Minister and adviser to the King, condoned some of the worst excesses of Red Guard behaviour.

Then he remembered his own recent and brief sojourn at the Châtelet awaiting execution on fabricated charges brought about by the actions of a rogue group of Red Guard. Had they really been acting on the orders of the Cardinal? He knew Tréville was convinced of it, that it was all part of a greater plan to bring the Musketeers into disrepute but why had he, Athos, been singled out for such attention?

If Richelieu were behind it, then Athos must have simply been a means to an end rather than the Cardinal acting upon some personal vendetta. Richelieu could not help but know him by name; he and his brothers had been identified on many an occasion for their altercations with members of the Red Guard and not always as a direct result of Porthos' cheating at cards with them. Tréville himself had warned them countless times – the most recent being a few weeks before the Versailles visit – that he was unwilling and unable to protect them if they persisted in baiting the Cardinal's men. The _Inseparables _were not always guilty of initiating trouble though.

Richelieu could not think of him as being all bad though; not after his exploits on the Île de Ré*, his loyal service to the King and recent events at Troyes. In fact, the Cardinal had insisted that he was the best suited to go and infiltrate the group. Athos felt a stab of unease - not for the first time - as he wondered if the Cardinal knew who he really was, had learned somehow of his aristocratic family and title. Why had he chosen Athos to command the Red Guard at this time? It was an agreed temporary position, but supposing Richelieu had other ideas! Supposing he would find some alternative way of keeping Athos in his service, of using him somehow, some way in the future? Richelieu was not one to do anything unless he thought it benefitted him in some way.

For the first time, Athos experienced a spasm of fear that had nothing whatsoever to do with the impending battle.

Grenouille spotted him and was even now coming over to him.

"Athos!"

He recognised Aramis' shout and the note of urgency. He spun around and was disconcerted to see his friend running towards him as fast as he could.

"What's the matter?" Athos asked, perplexed.

Aramis held him by the arm as if the gesture were enough to provide protection. He twisted his head to scan the area.

"Aramis, tell me!" Athos insisted.

"L'Hernault has escaped."

"Escaped! But how?"

Now Athos also looked around him nervously as he absorbed Aramis' concern.

"I didn't hang around to find out; I thought it more important to warn you."

Grenouille reached the pair, his open smile fading as he detected their mood.

"What's 'appened? Anythin' I can 'elp with?"

They told him the little they knew.

"An' 'e's the one who killed the Captain an' wants you dead," he said, seeking clarification from Athos who nodded by way of reply. "You'd best not be standin' out in the open then until 'e's found. You'll be safer inside."

Athos was about to protest but Aramis stalled him.

"Grenouille is correct. There are so many people milling about now that once the word is out, he will be quickly apprehended again."

"But I have things to do," Athos protested. "I have to check on the men and then I …"

"No need, Captain. Everythin' is sorted an' the men are ready an' waitin' for you to give the word," Grenouille reported.

"And I was on my way to say the attack will come close to noon, so the men need to get into position," Athos explained.

"Then I can pass that on. I'll also tell 'em to keep an eye out for someone lurkin' about an' behavin' a little odd."

"Thank you, Grenouille. I will be back as soon as I can and definitely to lead the men," Athos assured him.

"Come on," Aramis pulled on his arm. "Let's get you out of the open."

II

"Tell me how he escaped," Tréville demanded, his face grim as he stood in the middle of the room looking down at the injured Musketeer sitting on a chair that had been provided for him.

Clement was ashen, a bloodied cloth held at his temple.

He was about to start his tale when the door opened to admit Athos and Aramis.

"You've heard," the Captain stated, and the two friends nodded.

Aramis stepped forward to inspect the Musketeer's injury.

"You are here in time to hear from Clement what happened," Tréville said.

"We had just locked up the first group of nobles," Clement began, wincing as Aramis gingerly touched the lump that had rapidly formed on the man's head.

"Menier and his four friends," Tréville clarified for Athos.

"Anyway, the others left and I was on my own until the next lot arrived. Then this man suddenly started walking down the corridor towards me and I told him he wasn't allowed down there and that it didn't lead anywhere."

"Did he say anything?" Athos asked.

"Just that he was sorry, and he'd made a mistake. I thought he was turning to go but he lunged at me, took me completely by surprise and cracked me over the head. Next thing I know, I'm coming round in the room where L'Hernault was locked up. He was gone and I'm the one locked in with a massive headache."

"We were bringing down the prisoner you sent us to collect and heard Clement banging on the door and shouting," a Musketeer called Linville took up the story. "There were several keys thrown on the floor and it took us a bit of time to find the right one."

"Can you remember what the man looked like?" Athos wanted to know.

Clement paused for a moment, carefully organising his thoughts before giving a fairly detailed description of his assailant.

"Allaire," Athos said to Tréville.

"What was he hoping to achieve?" Aramis was puzzled.

"To create a distraction," Athos answered.

"As if we haven't got enough to think about at this time," Tréville added.

"Exactly. He's hoping that L'Hernault will come after me to finish what he started, that we'll waste time sending men out searching for him."

"It's hardly a waste," Aramis objected. "The man is loose and dangerous."

"We have more pressing things to think about at present," Athos insisted. "Grenouille will have alerted the Red Guard by now"

"And I will do likewise with the Musketeers, although I will send a few to conduct a more structured search. I can allow them an hour and no more. If he is still around the lodge, he will be found. Linville, go to the stables and ask if anyone has ridden out of here in the last half an hour."

"I will take Clement and dress this head wound," Aramis stated as he helped the injured man to his feet.

Tréville and Athos were left looking at each other and then the Captain sighed, pulled his pistol from his belt and set about priming it as the younger man watched.

"It seems that you are staying here with me for a while."

"But I have things to supervise and check," Athos insisted.

"Then those things must wait. You could send word to Grenouille or we hope that he has the common sense and experience to see things done without your presence. You may be Captain of the Red Guard, but I have the ultimate authority, remember? You are to stay here, and it is not open to any negotiation; it is a direct order."


	111. Chapter 111

_**Thank you for reading and reviewing yesterday's chapter.**_

_**I hope I have sorted any errors and typos from today's chapter. It doesn't seem to matter how often I re-read something, something always creeps through! **_

_**Also, just had the lunch time BBC News on and they were discussing the impact of Covid-19 on programme making and when things would disappear from the screen for a while. Then they talked about programmes held in readiness ….and showed a clip of the new 'Strike' series! Be still my beating heart! This is after listening before lunch to the first cd in BBC Radio 4's 'Jane Eyre' with TB playing Rochester. Now I have to concentrate on writing the next chapter! **_

CHAPTER 111

Before Athos and Tréville could think of doing anything else, one of the Red Guard appeared in the doorway to tell them that Richelieu wanted them to join him in the King's private chambers.

"What now?" Tréville muttered as they moved briskly up the stairs to the first floor.

"Perhaps the King requires some additional reassurance," Athos suggested as he mentally noted the presence of the Guards collecting heavy pieces of furniture from rooms to create barricades.

At the first obstacle, the officers squeezed their way between a couple of chests and a large cabinet. Two Guards were carrying heavy chairs and stood back to let them pass.

"Captain," they acknowledged as Athos passed them.

He nodded to them. "Good work, gentlemen. Build it high."

"Yes, Captain," they chorused and set to their work with renewed enthusiasm.

"They seem to have accepted you," Tréville said quietly, his pride unmistakable

"So it would appear," Athos agreed, trying to suppress a frisson of pleasure.

Raised voices could be heard at the end of the corridor. One person, at least, was not very happy.

"Gaston," Tréville sighed. "I would recognise his whine anywhere. What is he up to now?"

"It seems that he is attempting to gain access to the King," Athos commented.

Gaston was remonstrating with the two Musketeers stationed outside the monarch's apartment but, on hearing their approaching footsteps, the Duc wheeled around and began a fresh verbal assault on the newcomers.

"Tréville, I would see my brother, but your men will not let me pass. I demand that you do something about it."

"Cardinal Richelieu gave strict instructions that no-one was to be admitted, Captain, savin' yourself and Athos when you arrived," one of the Musketeers explained with some regret.

"And there you have it, Your Grace," Tréville said to Gaston.

"A battle is going to begin at any time, and it is reprehensible that you should be given precedence over me," the Duc objected, his voice rising in volume. No doubt he wanted to be heard the other side of the door, which stood ajar. He had probably been halted in the process of walking in.

Tréville kept a straight face. "I thank you for pointing that out to me. I suspect that is the reason why Captain Athos and I have been summoned to give His Majesty final reassurances about preparations for the imminent _battle._"

"I insist upon an audience with my brother," Gaston opined. "We might all be slain; I might never have the chance to speak with him again."

"We have done everything within our power to ensure the safety of all those taking shelter within the lodge, especially His Majesty and the Queen," Tréville told him, an impatient edge creeping into his tone. "Unless, of course, you have some additional information that might strengthen our position."

Gaston was unaccountably flustered. "No, no. What else could I possibly know?"

"I don't know," answered the Musketeer Captain as he prepared to give Gaston an opportunity for further admission. "That is why I am asking. I cannot help but wonder if L'Hernault – oh sorry, he was 'your man' at the meeting, wasn't he? I was wondering if he knew something more than you had shared with us, something that perhaps Athos here did not discover."

Gaston's mouth opened and shut repeatedly, and his eyes widened in re-appraisal of Athos before he found his voice.

"So you're the one who …." The words trailed off for he had said too much.

"'The one who' what?" Tréville demanded dangerously, taking a step closer to the shorter Duc.

Gaston looked about him wildly but there was no help to be found and the double doors behind him that, although ajar in reality, remained closed to him.

"The one who was actually a Musketeer and who gained access to that meeting at Troyes? The one who learned the details of the plot and knew the identities of all those involved and particularly the ones who had promised manpower to the rebel cause?"

He let his words penetrate and, seeing Gaston squirm uncomfortably, pressed home his advantage.

"The one whom L'Hernault recognised and who was left near death after a brutal attack? The one L'Hernault targeted for a second attempt. The one who, if L'Hernault is to be believed, you also gave an order to have killed?

Gaston was saved from having to account for himself by one of the doors behind him swinging open to reveal Richelieu.

"What an interesting exchange, Captain. I have been standing listening on the other side of the door." He frowned at the Duc.

"I want to see my brother," Gaston repeated pathetically.

"Fortunately for you, His Majesty will grant you an audience; he can spare you five minutes, no longer," and the Cardinal stood to one side to let him pass.

Athos and Tréville followed him into the King's presence.

Louis was standing at a window, looking out at the preparations for battle that were unfolding below him.

Gaston bowed and greeted him effusively but when Louis turned to him, there was no welcome in the King's eyes. He held up a hand to halt the Duc's progress across the room to him.

"There is no need to come any further," Louis said, his face and tone cold.

Gaston stopped, puzzled. "Louis, I …"

"You will not address me so informally. We may be brothers in blood but I am your King."

"But, Louis ….. I am sorry, Your Majesty," Gaston corrected himself, "but I do not understand."

"Do you not, _brother_?" Louis was furious. "You have betrayed me."

"Betrayed! How?" Gaston's panic was very real. "But I told you of the rebels' petition and plot!"

"Oh, indeed you did. And no doubt you think I should be eternally grateful, _little brother_. In recent days, you have certainly taken the time and trouble to apologise for your prior shortcomings and stressed your loyalty, your change of heart.

"Perhaps I would have been more accommodating had you informed me of something I did not already know, but one of the Cardinal's intelligencers had already alerted him of impending problems in time for us to send our own man. From the conversation in the corridor which, like the Cardinal, I also overheard, I know that you have been introduced to Musketeer Athos, _my _intelligencer!"

Gaston's face blanched with fear and he wrung his hands nervously.

"Your information largely concurred with what he reported, except for one detail. A rather significant detail in my opinion. You offered the support of armed men to the rebels."

"Yes but I had to do something to fool them into believing that I was on their side whilst the incriminating evidence was being gathered against them," Gaston said in his defence.

"And what would you have _me_ fooled into believing, Gaston?" Louis looked pained at having to ask the question.

"I would not fool you!"

"Would you not? How many times have you lied to me in your life, Gaston? Sometimes it was an outright untruth and other times you twisted details to suit your purpose. Do you realise there is the lie of omission?"

Gaston could not answer. Instead, he swallowed hard.

"Such as when you omitted to tell me that you had moved armed men across my realm and positioned them in three camps close to Versailles."

"I forgot; I am sorry," Gaston stammered. It was a lame reason, even to his ears.

"That is quite a serious bout of forgetfulness, do you not think?"

Richelieu, Tréville and Athos stood and watched in a respectful silence. There was no need to intervene; their presence was merely one of moral and tactical support for the King for Louis was doing a fine job of taking apart anything that Gaston might claim.

"I brought them to support you against the nobles!" Gaston wailed.

"Really?" Louis was justifiably incredulous. "Yet you refrained from declaring your intentions from the start!"

"I told you, I forgot. There was so much happening at the same time. They are here to fight _for_ you, no against you."

Louis gave a mirthless laugh. "And you expect me to accept your preposterous tale? It is just another of your fabrications, Gaston. Do you not remember, as children, when we listened to the fables of Aesop? There was the story of the little boy who cried wolf. _You_ are that boy, Gaston.

"You have told me so many stories over the years and I have always accepted them because I trusted you; I gave you chances to make good and yet so many times you have broken my heart when I have discovered the truth. You are my only legitimate brother and there should be a closeness between us but, for some reason, you have gone out of your way to damage our relationship. No more, Gaston. I will not hear your lies again."

There was a sadness now about Louis that had not been so before.

"But I am telling you the truth!" Gaston pleaded.

"Perhaps you are, or at least your version of the truth as you understand it, but I cannot, will not, heed you anymore, Gaston."

"But, Louis …." Gaston was desperate now. This audience with his older brother was not unfolding as he had expected.

"Captain Tréville," Louis said, cutting off whatever it was that Gaston was about to say for himself."

"Sire!" Tréville snapped to attention.

"Have the Duc d'Orleans taken to his rooms and confined there. I would not see him locked up in the manner of the other prisoners and for that he must be thankful. We will decide what is to become of him when this day is ended."


	112. Chapter 112

_**Greetings on a Wonderful Wednesday! (It is Wednesday, isn't it? Lol!)**_

_**Thank you for reading and leaving comments yesterday.**_

CHAPTER 112

"Come!" Tréville ordered in response to the knock at the door. He and Athos had returned to Richelieu's office to await the Cardinal who was still occupied in calming the anxious King.

The door opened and Claude entered.

"Please do not come to inform me of any more problems," Tréville grumbled.

Claude stood in the middle of the room, turning his hat in circles by its brim gripped in his hands. He eyed Athos as if for help.

"Well?" the Musketeer Captain demanded when the soldier maintained his silence.

"You did not want to 'ear any more problems," Claude said, "so I was wondering how to make my report."

Tréville sighed and ran a hand over his tired eyes. "Do not be obtuse, man; it does not suit you. I have enough to think about right now."

"Then I'm sorry I can't be tellin' you 'ow we've found the prisoner. He's gone to ground somewhere."

Athos' stomach churned. He had not realised how much he was needing L'Hernault to be taken into custody again. How could he focus on leading men in battle when all the time he was concerned as to the whereabouts of the man who wanted to see him dead?

"Can he have left Versailles?" he asked, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

Claude shook his head. "We started at the stables. 'E's not been anywhere near an' no horse is missin'. If 'e has gone, 'e's gone on foot."

"Then he is still in the lodge or its grounds somewhere," Tréville insisted, slamming shut the book on the table in front of him.

"There is one rider who headed out though, right after Menier was arrested," Claude added.

Both Athos and Tréville leaned forward in their seats.

"Go on," the Captain urged.

"From the description, it sounds like the nobleman Allaire."

"And he wasn't riding double? He didn't have L'Hernault with him?" Tréville asked.

"No, 'e was definitely alone. Took off at speed 'e did."

"He did not want to be around when we discovered that someone had released L'Hernault. He must have known Clement had seen him and would give enough information for us to identify him," Athos commented.

"In which direction was he going?"

"North west,"Claude said without hesitation.

"To the nobles?" Athos wondered aloud.

Tréville frowned. "No, there would be no need. The nobles waiting there with their men would know to attack at noon when Menier had not returned. That was the understanding."

"Then he has gone to Gaston's men," Athos realised.

"Exactly," Tréville agreed, thinking through the situation. "And why would he be heading there in such a hurry?"

"Maybe 'e 'ad an urgent message to deliver from the Duc," Claude suggested in all innocence.

Athos and Tréville looked from him to each other.

"And what could that urgent message possibly be?" the Captain asked the younger man, dropping his voice.

"That they were to fight for the King and not to help the nobles."

"Gaston has realised that the outcome is unlikely to be in his favour, so he is protecting himself and has changed sides to support his brother."

"In an attempt to stave off a charge of treason," Athos added. The Captain nodded. "But how do we prove it? Confirmation of his wrong-doing would destroy Gaston once and for all."

"And so he will have been exceedingly careful to cover his moves and orders. His failure to declare that he had brought armed men to Versailles already puts him on dangerous ground."

"But he 'forgot' to tell the King," Athos said, with a trace of mockery colouring his words.

"That is his claim and as ridiculous as it sounds, how can we disprove otherwise?" Tréville continued to reason aloud.

Athos held up his hands in a helpless gesture. "It is impossible to gauge a man's forgetfulness."

"And that will be his defence. He will probably have been circumspect in what he has told his men. If he has said to them that they will be fighting beside the nobles, he could argue later that he did so to maintain the subterfuge for Menier and his counterparts. He would not tell them the full truth until nearer the outbreak of the conflict. Are we not guilty of doing exactly the same? Of wanting to keep secret the extent of our knowledge and the strength of our forces in case the truth reached those who would oppose us?"

Athos did not respond immediately; his mind was racing. "So the men closest to Gaston and who knew of his plans were de Mayenne, L'Hernault and Allaire. The first is dead, the second is missing and the third has run to the Duc's men with new orders." He looked at Tréville, his green eyes intense. "Then our only hope is to re-take L'Hernault and Allaire alive to pressure them into revealing his intentions."

"Alive," Tréville repeated. "It will not be easy."

"An' I'm tellin' you now that L'Hernault is armed again," Claude spoke up. When he had their full attention, he explained. "Clement has realised he's lost his pistol, powder horn and bag of shot. The room where L'Hernault was bein' held has been searched and the corridor outside but nothin'. They couldn't all 'ave fallen off 'im when 'e was knocked out; they were deliberately taken from 'is person."

Athos knew he was being watched by Tréville and thought to make light of the situation to ease the tension in the room. "He has a strange and unfortunate fondness for appropriating other people's weapons."

Tréville's eyes narrowed at the comment but he chose to ignore it.

"There is no more time to search for him, Claude. I said an hour and that time is exhausted now. Just alert the men to remain vigilant and you heard Athos. L'Hernault must be taken alive if at all possible. If he is found and resists arrest again, the men are instructed to shoot to wound rather than kill; unless, of course, their own lives are at risk."

Athos knew that Tréville would be concerned for him and would be thinking of questions aplenty but there was no opportunity for them to be asked for as Claude departed, Richelieu walked in.

"How fares His Majesty?" Tréville asked.

"He is quite composed and resting for now," the Cardidnal answered, eying the two men and frowning; there was no avoiding the underlying tension within the room. It was caused by more than the prospect of the imminent attack on the two battle-hardened soldiers. "What is it? What has happened?"

Tréville repeated Claude's report and added the subsequent thoughts both he and Athos had had in proving Gaston's treachery.

"Much as it pains me to acknowledge it," Richelieu said eventually, "I fear that we will not have suitable grounds for bringing down the Duc d'Orleans."


	113. Chapter 113

_**Afternoon, all.**_

_**Many thanks for reading and leaving comments yesterday.**_

_**Now, the wait begins to take its toll.**_

CHAPTER 113

I

Time was playing cruel tricks on the mentality of those at Versailles.

For the royal couple and their guests ensconced on an upper floor within a series of inter-communicating rooms, there was the knowledge that all that stood between them and potential death were the stout wooden doors locked from within and the dedicated Musketeers and Red Guard who held the corridors beyond.

Louis fretted and worried in isolation, denying himself the solace his Queen wanted to offer. He was not even in the comfort of one of his own rooms as originally planned. Once he had witnessed Gaston being led away by some of his Musketeers, the Cardinal and Captain Tréville had had a last-minute change of mind, realising that if any of the rebels infiltrated the lodge, they would possibly know the precise whereabouts of the King's apartment. Moving him somewhere else would not save him in itself but might buy his men valuable time in protecting him. So he had changed position from one wing to the rear of the lodge.

Shutters at the windows had all been closed save one and he stood before it now, having sworn that when the fighting looked about to commence, he would shut that too and move to the other side of the room in case a stray shot penetrated the woodwork and glass. The mattress had been pulled from the bed and set on the floor as far from the window as was possible. Other furniture had been positioned to create a further barrier. There was no other access to the room except through the heavily guarded door.

So, when the fighting started, when his men were prepared to lay down their lives to keep him safe, he – the King of France - would be curled up on cushions and pillows piled on a mattress on the floor. It was undignified but, in his terror, he would comply.

Yes, he did feel terror. It was a mix of that, anger and a deep hurt brought about by the knowledge that his brother had lied to and betrayed him yet again. He would survive this attack for he had faith in the Cardinal and the Captains of the Musketeers and the Red Guard; he also had an unshakeable belief in their men and, when the rebels were defeated, he would decide what to do with his brother. There would be no forgiveness this time, no second or third chances. Gaston had brought this upon himself and only had himself to blame.

Louis' rooms had enabled him to watch activity around a significant part of the lodge as the men prepared to defend it. This new accommodation looked out more directly at the ground between the hunting lodge and the forest beyond. Through that same forest or along its edge – he was not sure which route they would follow – the nobles who betrayed him would soon appear. Before that were the camps of the two regiments, largely abandoned now as the tents' residents took up positions elsewhere.

The King took in a shuddering breath as it occurred to him that some of his men would not see the day's end; lives cut short doing that for which they trained long and hard. Looking down, he could see the places where many had secreted themselves. They were so still, so silent! How could they maintain that? He could never sit or stand still long enough even when supposedly relaxed. Then Louis imagined their nerves, taut as the strings of a lute, as they watched and waited for the signals that would send them into battle. Did they know trepidation in the face of combat? Did they share his fear? Perhaps, on another day, it was a question he could put to his Captain of the Musketeers.

It was not something he had ever contemplated before, not even when he sent men to Genoa, the Île de Ré, La Rochelle, Saint Kitts and Nevis and the recent battle of Veillane. So much conflict in less than five years and not all had brought him victory! Some were short campaigns and others drawn out for many months. That was without dealing with his mother and discord such as this current one with the nobles. It was serious enough when the enemy was foreign such as the Spanish and the English; it did not seem to help that he was married to the sister of the Spanish King and his own sister was married to the English one! He had been raised to believe in the efficacy of diplomacy. Why was it so inconsistent then? But somehow, the severity of those conflicts did not bruise him in the same way as when the enemy came from within his own realm. Was he to spend his days living in fear of the assassin like his father before him? Not that Henri had ever shown fear, of course.

Louis felt a pang of regret that he had been deprived at the impressionable age of ten of his father's guidance and example. Henri would know how to deal with the nobles. Whom could he – Louis - trust in the future beyond Richelieu and the Captain of the Musketeers, of course? Whenever a courtier looked at him and smiled in the weeks and months ahead, Louis would always suspect ulterior motive, the deeper desire to thrust an ornate dagger into his heart.

He whimpered, clutched at the window frame and rested his forehead against the cold glass.

There were some days when he did not enjoy being the King.

II

Aramis was in a room on the top floor of the north east wing, pistols and muskets laid out at his feet. He had already knocked out the glass in the window for the opening mechanism was unwieldy and failed to provide the sufficient range of angles and aim he desired.

The Musketeer with him, Idoine, was crouched further within the room, laying out his store of powder and shot so that he could do his work to reload and set out weapons for the marksman without impeding him. A candle stood ready for lighting in its holder on the floor. It would be used to ignite the first of the match cords whilst spare ones lay on an empty saddle bag.

There was nothing the two men could do now except wait. Aramis watched the distant tree line for any sign of movement, but all was still and quiet. An eerie silence had descended upon the lodge, one heavy with anticipation.

The men about to fight would have done all that was necessary in preparing their equipment and so now they prepared themselves. Some, like Aramis, sent a prayer heavenward that the Almighty would guide their hand and keep them safe from harm. Others thought of loved ones and wondered if they would meet again whilst still more emptied their minds of all distraction, focused only on the battle about to erupt and their part in it if they wanted to come out of it alive.

Aramis held the cross that hung about his neck and whispered his own appeal to God that he and his brothers would be kept safe this day and that victory would be theirs as they fought to protect the King against those who would wrong him.

His intercession concluded, he kissed the cross and let it fall against his chest. His shoulder was nudged and, turning, saw that Idoine was holding out bread and a piece of hard cheese.

"Got this from Serge before I left the camp. Thought we might need something to keep us going."

Aramis grinned, turned and sat down on the floor, his back against the wall and windowsill.

"Well done. It is an age since we broke our fast and who knows whether there will be an evening meal." He bit into the cheese and moaned appreciatively. "Funny how in the moment of tension, the little things of life take on a whole new meaning and become so much more precious."

And he thought of the precious individuals who were his closest friends; the men he hoped he would never take for granted. He knew that his was an important role as marksman on the upper floor, yet he wished fervently to be outside where he could stand shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, that they would fight together.

He tried to dismiss the sense of foreboding he had with the present arrangement.

Whilst he was relatively safe on an upper floor of the lodge, Porthos and d'Artagnan were below him almost. He had spied them from the window and smiled to himself as he saw them deep in conversation. This would be the young Gascon's first significant conflict and no doubt Porthos was dispensing words of wisdom, vowing in his head to watch out for the lad.

That left Athos who had yet to appear. Athos - currently in command of a regiment who usually hated the very mention and sight of all things Musketeer. Athos – who only had an unruly giant to rely upon for support.

Athos – who was the target of a madman on the loose.


	114. Chapter 114

_**Greetings, and happy Bank Holiday! It was difficult enough before knowing which day was which but to have a Bank Holiday moved from Monday to Friday when, because of lockdown, it doesn't seem any different from all the other days, really does not help. Especially when, a few minutes ago, I thought it was Saturday! Oh help! I think I'll just give up. I'll go to bed, sleep, get up in the morning and just go with the flow. The only time it'll matter is when I want to go to the supermarket and have to have the right day to access my 'protected hour' from 8.00 am! Keep smiling, lovely people!**_

_**This chapter has a little more reflection before all hell breaks loose! Thank you for reading and commenting yesterday.**_

CHAPTER 114

I

"Is it always like this ?" d'Artagnan asked quietly as he sat on the ground and leaned against the large table that he and Porthos had carried from the kitchens and turned on its side to afford them some cover.

"Like what?" Porthos asked, not fully paying attention as he peered around the side of the table to where the Red Guard had taken up their positions. He could see Grenouille but, so far, there was no sign of Athos and Tréville.

It was his intention to be as near his brother as possible for he really did not think that Athos was fit enough to fight. Under normal circumstances, the man was such a skilled and agile swordsman that he was a joy to watch in training – as long as Porthos was a spectator and not his opponent. He was a master, an artist with a blade in his hand, so tactical and intuitive in anticipating what his adversary might do but none of this stood him in good stead if his own body hindered him. The wound to his side was healing well according to Aramis but he still held himself stiffly when he walked so that would impede his fluid movement on the battlefield.

Porthos was also concerned that Athos had not yet regained sufficient strength or stamina that such a fight would demand. He still could not erase from his mind the image of the swordsman when they found him in the horrendously named 'dying room'. In fact, although he did not admit it to anyone, he had subsequently experienced bad dreams about that moment. How could he ever forget the sight of his brother brought so low as he burned with fever and infection, his body soiled with vomit and watery excrement?

"You know, immediately before a battle."

The voice was so quiet and imbued with an uncharacteristic nervousness, that Porthos hung his head and sighed. How could he have been so thoughtless that he had forgotten d'Artagnan's lack of experience?

He turned back to the young Gascon and made himself comfortable. D'Artagnan watched, his eyes wide with anxiety, indecisiveness and … what? Fear?

"The waitin's always the difficult bit. We're all ready an' wantin' to be about the business. I suppose we're like Louis' huntin' dogs, straining at the leash until we're let loose."

D'Artagnan managed a weak chuckle. "Never saw myself as a hunting dog before."

"Same principle really. They hunt on instinct an' we fight; with our own instinct an' a bit of trainin' thrown in as well. We're huntin' out the enemy, bringin' 'im down before 'e does it to us first. Once the fight starts, our job begins. We don't 'ave time for worryin' then; it's all about doin' what's necessary to stay alive."

He glanced sideways at the young man who was hanging on his every word. "It didn't seem to bother you when you took off after Gaudet an' the other Red Guard when we were wantin' to prove Athos' innocence."

D'Artagnan's expression was suddenly haunted. "Don't remind me. That action could have got Athos killed had we not found the stolen Musketeer uniforms. I wasn't thinking at all. All I wanted was revenge for my father's murder."

"You 'ad a purpose an' it drove you onwards. It was all that mattered."

"And what drives you now?"

Porthos looked surprised at the question. "Defendin' the King, no matter what an' no questions asked. I swore an oath when I became a Musketeer an' that was to protect Louis, whatever it took, even if it was layin' down my life. Course," he grinned, "I try 'ard not to go quite that far. Makes me a better fighter for a start."

"Do you think about dying though?"

Porthos looked straight ahead of him. "It's always there, when you get to a moment like this. You can't 'elp but wonder if this is your time, but if you keep thinkin' like that, it will be an' no mistake. You can't dwell on it."

D'Artagnan was thoughtful, mulling over what Porthos was saying to him.

"We do a dangerous job; we're soldiers but we know we're good at it, otherwise we wouldn't be Musketeers. Tréville doesn't take any old rubbish; you should know that by now."

The young Gascon cast him a withering glance. "Do you need reminding that I am not a Musketeer yet."

"Maybe not officially," Porthos grinned. "Not yet, but Tréville lets you 'ang around with us so 'e must think you've got somethin' about you."

"A death wish?" d'Artagnan asked flippantly.

Porthos grew serious once more. "Every day we're on the streets of Paris an' about the King's business could be our last. The criminal lot don't like us, they're frightened of us an' they'll take us out any way they can. We go after bandits in the countryside because they're terrifyin' innocent travellers; they're desperate an' dangerous. We get it wrong or we underestimate 'em an' that could be it.

"Let's face it, Vadim could've killed you. 'E 'ad an interestin' way of tryin' when 'e tied you to all those barrels of gunpowder. Just before that, all those lies against Athos nearly got 'im executed."

"And a few weeks later he nearly gets himself killed on a spying mission," d'Artagnan added softly.

"But 'e didn't, did he? He's still 'ere with us. We can't think like that, d'Artagnan, otherwise we couldn't get our job done. All I know is when I'm goin' into a fight, I've got two good brothers who I trust to 'ave my back the same way as I 'ave theirs." He looked meaningfully at the young Gascon and reached out to grip his shoulder tightly. "An' now I 'ave you too."

D'Artagnan gazed at him and smiled warmly. "Thank you."

II

Athos and Tréville left Richelieu's office and walked in step towards the nearest exit out of the rear of the lodge. Neither spoke and anyone watching the two men would have noticed something interesting. Although Athos was the taller, the Musketeer Captain matched his stride and both of them looked surreptitiously through open doorways and down adjoining corridors.

Leaving the building, they paused, each surveying their men's positions and the general state of readiness. They left unspoken the fact that they were both looking for any glimpse of L'Hernault. Out in the open, Athos was dangerously exposed. The rebels would be approaching from the front, but a more sinister nemesis could be lurking behind them within the lodge, poised at one of the multitudinous windows and planning on repeating the murderous attempt of the previous day.

"All set?" Tréville asked, relying on the business in hand and unable to put into words what he really wanted to say to the young man beside him.

Athos nodded and said, somewhat obviously. "The men are all in place." Something caught his attention. "Incoming."

The men nearby had also seen the horse and its rider approaching at speed and raised their firearms to take aim.

"Hold your fire," he called to the line of Red Guard who had probably not identified the newcomer as a Musketeer.

"Hold!" Tréville shouted towards the concealed Musketeers.

The rider reined in so hard that the horse nearly sat back on its hind legs. Another Musketeer broke from concealment to run forward and seize the animal's reins, trotting it round to the stables as the messenger headed along the line to Tréville.

"Report!" the Captain ordered, even though he knew what he was about to hear for he had sent the man out to scout the countryside for the first movement of the rebels.

"They're on their way," the man said, breathing hard. "Probably ten minutes out, no more."

Tréville nodded grimly. "Let them come. We're ready."


	115. Chapter 115

_**Greetings on a sunny Saturday afternoon!**_

_**Thank you for reading and leaving comments yesterday.**_

_**WARNING to those of you whom I know are animal lovers: this chapter involves a vicious battle and one short paragraph does make reference to the death of horses.**_

CHAPTER 115

I

Later, the men involved in defending the King would boast that the battle with the rebels was an anti-climax, that their victory was never in doubt given their supremacy of numbers and the fact that God was on their side. No-one hearing the claim would rebuke them for remembering it that way, for that was their choice.

It was, admittedly, a brief conflict but there was no denying the terrifying brutality involved and the horrendous casualties that resulted, the vast majority from among the rebel forces. Too many were inadequately trained, their only instruction given on the route to Versailles; they were merely requisitioned from the estates to make up numbers, their carpentry tools and farming implements taken from their hands and replaced with unfamiliar weapons as they were ordered to stand beside the men of their lord's local militia.

Those hapless individuals were amongst the first to fall, sacrificed as they were cut down in the open by the combined barrage of fire from the Red Guard and Musketeers. Screaming with fright, others dropped their weapons and desperately threw themselves on the ground in miserable surrender without drawing one drop of the opposition's blood, only for some to be trampled by those who followed or, after that, by the rebel horsemen who rode into the fray.

Still more turned in panic to run and found their escape route blocked by a wall of men bearing down upon them and driving them backwards towards the soldiers. The grim choice was between a shot to the back or being stabbed by the swordsmen who marched forward relentlessly.

The terrified men who were still on their feet ran north and south for their very lives, caught between the King's men and the obstinately advancing rebels. The soldiers let them go, preferring to concentrate their last pistol and musket fire on the next ranks, before throwing their weapons aside, drawing their swords and leaping from their cover with blood-curdling roars at Tréville's signal to charge.

Those still trying to evade the hand-to hand fighting that ensued were turned round to the north by the allied horsemen and to the south by the foot soldiers of the loyalist nobles. Traumatised into submission, some rebels sat down to demonstrate that they were no longer a threat, begged for mercy and prayed that they would not be indiscriminately slaughtered.

The rebel leaders and their men on horseback attempted to circumnavigate the fighting men to the south, very few of them prepared to take on the large contingent of the loyal nobles who had suddenly ridden into view to the north but their way was obstructed by the violent clash on foot.

Men bellowed in rage in a mix of intimidation and the venting of pent-up fury as they fought for survival. The inexorable sound of clashing swords and the screams of the dying filled the air, only to be punctuated by the continuing musket fire of Aramis and the other hidden marksmen as they attempted to find their range to bring down the mounted rebel leaders.

The men were hard to hit at that distance, the horses offering bigger targets and as much as it pained Aramis to slay an innocent animal, it meant that the riders would be rendered more vulnerable and they would be reduced to joining the fight on their feet. He and his comrades met with some success, until the men in their sights realised what was happening and moved back out of range.

The damage was done, however, and although it was impossible for any shouted order to be heard in the melée, there was some sort of awareness as the rebels began to pull back.

Only to be met by Gaston's men riding in behind them! Menier's rebels were effectively trapped, surrounded in all directions.

The battle was over.

II

Athos was breathing hard as he stood and surveyed the carnage around him. His dark curling hair was matted with sweat and grime; blood smeared his face and spattered his doublet, but he had already reassured himself that none of it was his. It had been a necessary check as he struggled to regulate his breathing and overcome the fiery pain that had ignited in his side in protest at his actions. Several men lay dead around him and he thought he was probably responsible for their demise, but he could not recall their faces.

In the heat of battle, as he channelled his fury and skill to become a ruthless killer, his opponents ceased to be individuals. They were, quite simply, the enemy; when one fell, another took their place and he had to go on with the fight to survive. He could not think of them as anything else until afterwards for he had to abide by the maxim 'kill or be killed.'

He had not progressed too far across the battlefield, preferring in this instance to stand his ground, conserve his energy and let the foe come to him, as they had done. Early on, he had felt the reassurance of the close proximity of Grenouille and Porthos and he had even registered the presence of d'Artagnan fighting beyond the big Musketeer.

It had fleetingly occurred to him that, together, Porthos and Grenouille must have presented themselves as a formidable duo to their enemy and he caught glimpses of their unremitting onslaught.

Taking deep breaths and still steadying his pounding heart, his eyes swept the battlefield, trying to gauge how the Red Guard under his command had fared and reassured to see many of them on their feet to his left. To the other side of him, d'Artagnan was standing, looking up at the windows of the lodge and suddenly waving wildly. The wave then became a frantic beckoning gesture. He must have seen Aramis and was summoning him urgently.

Porthos! Where was he?

Now it was Athos' turn to panic, his breath catching in his throat when he could not see the big man on his feet anywhere. He turned his attention to the fallen, a sound akin to a sob of relief breaking from him when he realised his brother was kneeling, head bowed, with his back to him, the dark leathers dust-covered and making him indistinguishable from so many others.

Tiredness forgotten, he covered the ground in quick easy strides and saw, to his dismay, that Porthos leaned over another soldier on the ground.

"No, no, no, no!" Athos groaned as he dropped beside Grenouille and reached for a callused hand, gripping it tightly.


	116. Chapter 116

_**Thank you for reading and leaving comments about the battle. I love how some of you have taken Grenouille to your hearts. It's easier introducing new 'baddies' to a story but to create a good character that people like seems harder somehow. **_

_**Perhaps he and Claude are from similar moulds. What has happened to him though?**_

CHAPTER 116

I

"He saved my life," Porthos whispered, his voice catching, his dark eyes filled with horror.

His hands were pressed down on the long tear that ran from Grenouille's left clavicle diagonally down across the sternum and was bleeding profusely.

"Aramis!" Athos shouted and then tried even louder. "Aramis!"

"He's coming," d'Artagnan said, pointing to where the field medic was running towards them, clutching a bag to his chest.

Grenouille moaned and struggled beneath the pressure of Porthos' hands.

"Try not to move," Athos ordered.

The man's bulbous eyes flickered open and he attempted to focus on Athos' face.

"Captain," he murmured in recognition, relief evident in his voice. He must have been wondering what had happened to the young man who commanded him.

"Ssshh," Athos urged. "Aramis will be here soon."

"Did we win?" Grenouille gasped.

"Did we …?" There was a ghost of a smile. "Of course we won! How could we do anything else when we had you and Porthos fighting for us? All I can say is that I am thankful I did not have to face the pair of you."

Grenouille snorted with amusement and immediately followed it with a wince. "And Porthos? Is he …?"

"I'm here an' I'm fine; thanks to you."

The injured man closed his eyes momentarily. When they opened again, it was with an effort. Excessive blood loss was claiming his hold on consciousness.

"Grenouille, stay with me. Look at me!" Athos ordered urgently.

All credit to the wounded man as he fought to obey the directive.

"Is it bad?" he wanted to know, pain distorting his features.

Athos could not tell for there was so much blood.

"I doubt it," he said dismissively, trying to hide his anxiety with a false levity. "It is one of those wounds that always manages to look worse than it really is. I get them all the time."

Porthos guffawed at the claim. "Is that right!" he demanded. "You know something, Grenouille? I reckon if Athos lost 'is leg, 'e'd get up an' hop back into battle, claimin' it was just a scratch."

Grenouille chuckled and gasped in rapid succession.

"Where the hell is Aramis?" Athos hissed over his shoulder at d'Artagnan.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan shouted out. "Over here!" He leaned down to speak so that only Athos could hear him. "He's been stopped on the way over here. A Musketeer. Linville, I think."

Athos twisted round as far as he could to look up into d'Artagnan's face, an eyebrow raised in an unspoken question and ignoring the pain that lanced his own side at the awkward movement. The young Gascon shook his head and Athos sighed. How many good men would be lost this day?

The fingers of the weak hand that he held now squeezed his as Grenouille rode another wave of pain.

"I will be leaving you in Aramis' capable hands soon," Athos chattered on, desperately saying anything to distract the injured man.

"He's the one … who … puts you back together … all the time," Grenouille grunted.

"I would not say all the time, but he has done it … once or twice."

Porthos' mouth dropped open at what was, to him, an outright lie. "And the rest," he added.

Athos ignored him. "I can recommend his stitchwork. He uses small, delicate stitches. It will still scar but I can assure you that it will provide an admirable talking point with the ladies."

Grenouille huffed in amusement. "Don't get too many … of the ladies … these days …so if a good scar'll change that, then … I'm not … complainin'." He finished with a suppressed cry.

Athos felt a hand on his shoulder. Aramis had arrived. Releasing Grenouille's grip, Athos shuffled backwards so that Aramis could take his place.

"Now then, Grenouille," he began, all business-like. "What have you done to yourself?"

"He got it saving Porthos," d'Artagnan explained .

Aramis froze and glanced sharply at Porthos, who nodded affirmatively.

The medic flashed a warm, thankful grin. "I expect there is a good story there to be shared and I shall look forward to you telling me all about it over a drink back in Paris. Until then, we'd better do more than just patch you up, my friend."

The injured Red Guard managed a contented sigh at the unexpected recognition from the King's men who surrounded him and then his eyes slid shut.

Athos got to his feet slowly, awkwardly; the movement was that of a man far older in years but, in the aftermath of battle, an indescribable weariness was taking hold of him. If he had felt exhausted before, he could not find the words to describe what he was feeling right now but the day was far from over and there was much to be done. He would have to shoulder some of that responsibility for it could not be left entirely to Tréville.

He surveyed the site again for much had been happening in the time he had been with Grenouille.

There were so many prisoners! What were they going to do with them all? Some were obviously going to be of little or no trouble for they had been rounded up into one group and were sitting on the grass; they either wore expressions of utter horror at what they had experienced or wept openly, their terror not having had the time to abate. Some sat in mute shock, shrunken in on themselves, their shoulders rounded in humiliation.

Another group sat in sullen fury, not wanting to accept the resounding defeat they had just suffered. A third group, much smaller in number, was clearly comprised of the arrested nobles but even they were hard-pressed to maintain any dignity.

Athos could not remember seeing or hearing riders go but he presumed that either Musketeers or the mounted allies had ridden in pursuit of any rebels who had tried to escape the carnage.

The dead would have to be moved. He could not envisage the King being happy with the hunting lodge's back garden being dug up to accommodate a mass grave, especially when the bodies belonged to a troublesome faction. It went without saying that Linville and any other Musketeer who had paid the ultimate sacrifice would be taken back to Paris and the garrison, their home, there to be laid to rest with full honours in the Musketeer cemetery with their brothers who had fallen before them.

He had never stopped to wonder if the Red Guard had a similar last resting place. If not, perhaps it was something he could suggest in the final days or hours of his captaincy. He did not know when Richelieu anticipated that he stand down from the temporary command. It could be this very evening with the rebels successfully defeated or he could be expected to lead the men back to Paris and remain in position until the Cardinal appointed a permanent replacement. He felt a sudden stirring of nausea as it occurred to him that Richelieu might stall in his decision. How long might it be before he was reunited with his brothers?

Athos suddenly saw Tréville standing in an open space and supervising tasks around him. Musketeers were checking the fallen, separating and moving the dead from the injured. If there were many of the latter, Aramis and whoever could assist him were going to be exceedingly busy.

A respectful quietness had descended upon the battlefield as order was gradually restored. Even a priest of the King's household had emerged from the lodge and was wandering in search of the dying so that he could administer the last rites.

Walking towards the Musketeer Captain, Athos saw the moment that the man noticed him and raised a hand to greet him. Tréville acknowledged him with a broad grin, his relief evident that the younger man had come out of the conflict unscathed.

It all changed in an instant.

The smile froze as Tréville looked past him, at the same time reaching for his pistol.

It was warning enough as pure instinct kicked in. In one fluid movement, Athos drew his rapier and pivoted, just in time to hear a scream of rage and block the thrust of another weapon that was intended to deliver a death blow.

L'Hernault had come out of hiding.


	117. Chapter 117

**_Greetings and thank you for reading and leaving comments._**

**_I shall not waste time. Here we are - the long-awaited, inevitable (and feared) confrontation between Athos and L'Hernault._**

CHAPTER 117

The fight between Athos and L'Hernault was desperate, for both men understood from the outset that it was to the death.

And from early on, Athos knew with alarm that unless Fortune smiled upon him, it would be _his_ death for his body was not responding in the way that he had come to expect; his legs and sword arm were leaden. Gone was the agility, the fluidity of movement, and he was without his main gauche to parry the other man's onslaught. He had to have dropped it somewhere on the battlefield, but he had no opportunity to look out for it; he dared not take his eyes off his opponent.

L'Hernault was transformed, imbued with the incredible and desperate strength of the madman. He was beyond words but snarled like a wild animal, his nostrils flaring, spittle on his lips and his eyes gleaming wide in a terrifying mixture of insane recklessness and jubilation that at last he 'had his man'.

Athos was being driven backwards, his exhaustion causing him to be continually on the defence. As he fought for his life, it was too late to concede that he should never have been there. The world around him had ceased to exist and time itself had stopped. There was only the here and now, this frantic conflict, and it could only be measured with each violent clash of sword upon sword.

It was merely fourteen days since his brothers had found him in the aptly named 'dying room' and twelve days since his raging fever had finally broken. He had been back on his feet for seven days and he had pushed himself hard, disregarding all advice, so determined was he to join the Musketeers at Versailles.

The journey to the hunting lodge alone had left him drained even though he had ridden in the cart with Serge and the drugged sleep he had had that night - courtesy of Aramis – had done little to replenish his energy levels.

Then there was yesterday. Life might have been a little quieter for him had he accompanied the hunt! Both he and Tréville thought erroneously that it would be slower, calmer and less exacting working for the Cardinal in his office but then Menier had arrived and, from that moment onwards, the day had descended into sheer lunacy!

Athos had unwittingly incurred the hatred of the Red Guard Captain; the two regiments had completely disregarded orders and fought over food; L'Hernault had tried to shoot him and killed Planque instead; Richelieu had then seconded him to command the Red Guard; the murderer and Allaire had been apprehended and interrogated; and he had allowed L'Hernault to break through his carefully erected barricade to elicit an emotional response.

And the day had not ended there, for then there had been necessary work with the Red Guard, a meal with his brothers, an appearance at the banquet and a late-evening meeting with Tréville and the Cardinal. The hours had involved lots of walking between the camps and the lodge itself and two bone-jarring encounters with the ground and a wall had not helped matters. Add to that the discovered journal belonging to the dead Captain and it meant Athos had not had any sleep until the early hours. He had not even had the relief of a bed, instead sinking into a deep, uncomfortable slumber on a hard chair at a table.

He was never supposed to have been on the battlefield, but his unexpected command of the Red Guard had put him at the forefront for he knew that it was impossible to lead those men from the sanctuary of the lodge.

All of this had taken a grave toll on Athos and he could not spur himself on. He dug deep for any reserves of energy, but there were none. His lungs were burning as he struggled to draw breath, the pain in his side had blossomed into an excruciating agony that spread throughout his torso and his arms screamed their protest from wrist to shoulder with the weight of each blow from L'Hernault who fought as a man possessed. He could not even manoeuvre himself to employ any of the dirtier tactics he had learned from Porthos. Sweat ran into his eyes, blinding him momentarily so that he blocked L'Hernault's next move on instinct alone.

And then he lost his footing!

Pushed ever backwards by L'Hernault, he had not seen the corpse on the ground behind him and it tripped him. Arms flailing, he nearly lost the grip on his weapon as he hit the ground hard, the back of his head and shoulders impacting first so that he lay there stunned and winded, his lower legs hooked over a dead man.

Fighting for breath, he looked up at the crazed L'Hernault who stood over him, sword raised and poised to be plunged into him.

This was his ignominious end then - at the hands of a madman. He tried to summon up a last burst of stamina, his brain shrieking orders at his unresponsive body.

He had nothing left and fixed his gaze on L'Hernault, resolving to look Death in the face with courage and honour.

Blood roared in his ears so that he could hear nothing. The first he knew that something was wrong was when L'Hernault's expression changed from a triumphant leer to one of utter surprise. He glanced down at his chest, and Athos looked up, fascinated, at the blossoming red stain spreading rapidly across the shirt.

L'Hernault's eyes glazed and he swayed. Standing over Athos, he resembled a chopped tree in its last, wavering moments before toppling.

Athos' eyes widened in realisation. L'Hernault was about to fall forward and land on him, pinning him to the ground with the blade. With a wretched cry and a surge of energy pulled from he knew not where, Athos threw himself to one side and rolled over and over, only knowing that he was safe when he felt the vibration through the earth beneath him and realised that L'Hernault had fallen.

Lying face down, Athos squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed into the dirt; whether it was from relief, agony or utter exhaustion, he could not tell.

The next he knew were voices talking at him, the words urgent but indecipherable, and then hands pulling at him, rolling him over and lifting him up into a sitting position. Arms engulfed him, rocked him and held him tight in a protective embrace. The decorative studwork of a leather doublet impressed itself onto his cheek. He allowed himself a slow, crooked smile of recognition.

Porthos.

Then there were more voices at odds with each other.

"Is he alive?" That was d'Artagnan.

"How can I tell?" Aramis, and he sounded frustrated. "Porthos, you have to relax your hold a little. You are in danger of smothering him and I need to examine him."

A hand stroked back his sweat-soaked hair from his face and rested on his head. "Athos, open your eyes." It was an order. Tréville.

His lids fluttered and he looked up at the most wonderful tableau he had ever seen in his life. He lay against Porthos with Aramis on his knees before him, Tréville crouched at his side and d'Artagnan standing and leaning over him, blocking out the sun.

"What happened?" he croaked.

"The Captain shot L'Hernault," d'Artagnan explained.

"I would have shot him the moment I saw him," Tréville went on, "but with a discharged pistol, I had to reload and prepare but I could not get a clear aim until you fell."

"And we were with Grenouille. Your fight was well underway before we realised," Aramis said apologetically.

"Gave us quite a turn, you did," Porthos scolded gently. "Looked for all the world like you were lettin' 'im think 'e was winnin'."

"He was," Athos admitted grimly. Then, not wanting to dwell upon what had so nearly happened, he struggled to push himself up further. "Now, if you will just help me to my feet, I have to supervise things. There is the aftermath of a battle to sort out."

It was Tréville who pushed him back into Porthos' arms. "Oh no you don't! This time I am giving you an order and you are damn well going to follow it. You will go inside with Aramis to the makeshift infirmary where he can get a proper look at you and you are going to rest there. Do you hear me? Don't let me regret that I just saved your sorry hide."

His words may have sounded testy but the relief in his blue eyes told a completely different story.

Athos looked up at him and earnestly held his gaze, his unspoken gratitude to the man who had just saved his life abundantly clear to the small group. There would be time to have a quiet conversation with the Captain later when they were alone.

For now, there was the hint of a mischievous glint in the fatigued eyes.

"Well, when you put it as nicely as that, how can I refuse?"


	118. Chapter 118

_**Happy Tuesday! Thank you for reading and leaving comments yesterday.**_

_**Well, the big confrontation is over. Can life start to quieten down now for Athos and his friends? **_

CHAPTER 118

I

Aramis finished wiping down the table where he had been stitching wounded men and threw the bloodied cloth into the bucket of water by his feet. He would deal with it later. It was early evening and he had been hard at work since the battle ended tending to injuries. There were not as many as he had feared but then the fight had been very one-sided. For that, he knew he should be thankful, and he had already sent up grateful prayers that those he knew had been spared, but he could not ignore the sense of sadness he felt. A great number of the rebels had perished and from what he had witnessed, many of the dead should never have set foot onto a battlefield.

He walked out of the room where he had spent much of his time and looked through the open doorway of the adjacent one. Men were sleeping, some of them having been given a draught to help them, whilst others rested quietly and in reasonable comfort. Fingers occasionally picked at visible bandages. A Musketeer and member of the Red Guard, both with a modicum of common sense when it came to tending those who were hurt, moved quietly between the beds, offering water, pain draughts that Aramis had already prepared and smoothing blankets, their quiet words providing comfort and reassurance.

He moved onto the third room and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Athos was sitting on a chair beside Grenouille who slept on, oblivious to his company.

"And who said you could get out of bed?" he asked quietly , coming up beside his friend.

"I took that decision all on my own," Athos answered. "I will take full responsibility for any subsequent setbacks I might experience."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"A little," Athos admitted, "but my mind would not let me relax." He looked at the silent Grenouille. "Will he be alright?"

"Oh yes," Aramis reassured him, moving round to sit on the edge of the next bed, the one Athos had vacated. "It was easy to stitch, no other complications and I cleaned it thoroughly, so I anticipate no risk of infection."

"He will have full use of his left arm?"

"He should do." Aramis smiled. "You are concerned for one of Richelieu's men."

"I am. When all's said and done, he is a good man. Perhaps life has not been kind to him."

"Fortune is a fickle mistress," Aramis agreed. "She brings difficulties to us all at times. I think as you do, though, where Grenouille is concerned, particularly when he saved Porthos' life. I will forever be indebted to him for that."

"As will I," Athos added with sincerity. "Where are Porthos and d'Artagnan?"

"After they helped move the two of you in here, they went back out to assist Tréville; I haven't seen either of them since."

Athos sighed heavily and rose. "I must find the Captain but first, I should go to the Red Guard and speak with them. They conducted themselves well today."

Aramis stood with him. "Are you sure? Must you deal with this right now? I worry for you, my friend. You confess to having had little sleep and so much has happened today."

"You mean L'Hernault."

"The whole battle but yes, him in particular." His eyes searched Athos' face for any clue as to how he was feeling. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" Athos' answer sounded more brusque than he intended. "My apologies but I need time to myself to think about what happened."

Aramis nodded his understanding. "Just do not leave it too long. I shall always be willing to listen."

Athos grasped his upper arm in grateful thanks and would have walked out had it not been for Tréville's unexpected appearance in the doorway.

"Ah good, you're awake," the Captain began. "I am sorry, but the King wants to see us. I tried to delay him, but he will have none of it."

"There is no problem," Athos reassured him. "I was about to come and find you anyway. Aramis." He dipped his head in farewell to his brother and departed with Tréville.

II

The corridors leading to the King's apartment had already been stripped of their makeshift barricades, the rooms set to rights and the more usual guard detail in position. As he walked beside the Musketeer Captain, Athos reminded himself that he had been out of action for several hours and much had been achieved in restoring order.

He was strangely unprepared for the meeting and felt the first stirrings of guilt at not having done the rounds of his men, either as they worked or back at their camp. _His men – _how quickly had his perception of the Red Guard changed! All he had managed to do, without Aramis' knowledge, was visit the handful of injured Red Guard who were in the room adjoining his, at the same time acknowledging his Musketeer comrades who were also recuperating. He had not disturbed Aramis in the room where much of the treatment was happening, for he knew that even if he stood out of the way, he would have been banished back to his own bed. Fortunately, none of the men's injuries had been life threatening or changing and he was delighted to learn that Grenouille would make a full recovery in time.

Louis was ensconced in his own apartment once more and pacing distractedly as he awaited the arrival of the Captains. As soon as he heard the door open to admit the two men, he smiled warmly and crossed the room, hands outstretched. He caught the Musketeer officer by the shoulders in an unexpected gesture of warmth.

"Tréville! My dear man! I cannot find the words to say just how pleased I am to see you and that you are unhurt. What a victory! And you too," and here he reached for Athos' hand and gripped it. "My two Captains and your gallant men; Musketeers and Red Guard together, so brave and without equal." His eyes filled with tears. "Now I would hear your report. Hold back nothing, I implore you."

"Sire, you must calm yourself." It was Richelieu; he was standing silhouetted against a window and had been so still that Athos had not noticed him. "There is much to discuss and decisions that have to be made, important ones."

"You are right, Cardinal, as always. We have to decide what must be done about my brother," Louis moaned as he sank down onto the nearest chair.

Athos eyed the seat longingly, his mind wandering so that he was not fully concentrating on the conversation being conducted around him. All he had done was walk up a flight of stairs and along a corridor and yet he might as well have walked from Paris to Versailles, such was his body's level of complaint. What good was he to anyone at this moment? He was still so tired that he was experiencing an unwarranted level of light-headedness and he wondered if he were about to disgrace himself by collapsing in the presence of the King.

He must have looked as bad as he was feeling because, suddenly, a firm hand gripped him at the elbow and the edge of a chair touched the back of his legs.

"Sit!" a far-away voice ordered and then its owner set a glass of water into his shaking hands.

He had drunk half of it before he was convinced that he was not about to pass out and could focus once more upon the occupants of the room. Tréville was close at his right hand, Richelieu nearby to his left. The Cardinal had been responsible for providing the chair whilst the King sat opposite, staring hard at him and wringing his hands in concern.

Athos was mortified, his face colouring as he tried to struggle to his feet. "Your Majesty, I am … so sorry, I …"

Tréville pinned him to his chair with a hand on his shoulder, it required very little effort for he did not think he had the energy to stand at that moment.

"My dear man, you must not think of moving!" Louis insisted. Both officers were apparently very 'dear' to him at the moment, a strange expression of gratitude and concern that was to be savoured. "It is remiss of me that Captain Tréville has to remind me of your recent injury. You have done so much, including taking command of the Red Guard, that it is easy to assume you have made a full recovery. It is clearly not so. Should you retire to your room?"

"No, no, Your Majesty. I am much better just for sitting, thank you," Athos assured him, still burning with embarrassment.

Louis clapped his hands together as something occurred to him. "I know! The Cardinal and the Captain will also pull up chairs and sit and I shall send for refreshments whilst we discuss how to proceed."

"It is not necessary, Sire," Richelieu began but the King would have none of it.

"Nonsense, I insist. Besides, I am feeling more than a little hungry myself. With everything that was happening earlier, I was not in the mood for food. Now we must change that."


	119. Chapter 119

_**Afternoon,all.**_

_**Thanks, as always, for reading and leaving comments.**_

_**A slightly longer chapter here as things inevitably begin to draw to a close.**_

CHAPTER 119

I

There was no hurrying Louis and so it was over half an hour before the four men were seated at a table laden with food and wine. Athos felt somewhat uncomfortable at sitting down to eat opposite the King and, glancing to his right, Tréville seemed to be having similar thoughts. Only the Cardinal to his left appeared relaxed.

Louis, however, was effusive with his repeated praise and it did not strike him as curious that he had elected to sit and eat with the three men who were now 'dearer to him than all others.' Although he had never doubted their ability to keep him safe, the realisation that he had survived the challenge to his rule and a battle had obviously given him a ferocious appetite. He would never admit that he had lain on the cushions and mattress, weeping with terror, hands clamped over his ears in a futile attempt to minimise the sound of violence outside.

Athos, who was struggling to recall if he had stopped to eat anything since daybreak, could only marvel at the times the monarch reached for the different dishes to replenish his rapidly emptying plate.

"Eat! Eat!" Louis urged him when he picked at some cold roasted boar.

He looked at the meat and the idea struck him that the animal had probably been running around the forest the day before. He nearly laughed at the notion, something that he so rarely did these days that he feared he was bordering on exhausted hysteria.

"Eat!" Tréville ordered quietly, passing him a platter of hard-boiled eggs that had been halved and nestled between slices of cheese and more meats.

There were so many sauces, garnish and sweetbreads, followed by an even bigger array of sweetmeats and marchpane, coloured and shaped to resemble fruit, flowers and animals.

The problem was that Athos was disinclined to eat anything. He was in a vicious, worrying cycle: too tired and lacking the strength to eat, he knew he needed to eat to regain his strength. He hoped their discussion would prove to be a distraction for all, diverting their attention from him. It was still acutely embarrassing that he had so nearly passed out in front of the monarch. Tréville was pouring wine for each of them.

"Do you intend leaving for Paris in the morning, Your Majesty?" Richelieu asked, steering the conversation to the matter in hand.

Louis looked surprised. "No, Cardinal. I came here to hunt and that is exactly what I intend to do. The sooner life regains some normality, the better for everyone. The trip so far has been marred by the threat hanging over us but that has now been removed. I admit that some of my pleasure in this visit has diminished so that I might not remain for the planned period, but I refuse to decide that this evening. In fact, I think a hunt tomorrow afternoon might provide a much-needed amusement, although some of my guests might wish to leave Versailles. That will be entirely their choice, of course, and I will not take offence."

Athos was unsure whether to believe Louis' last declaration. His geniality was in the immediate aftermath of a battle and having received a terrible fright, but with a night's sleep, who knew what royal mood might emerge in the morning? For now, the three men seated at the table would humour him and deal with his mercurial nature as necessary.

"Sire, we have many prisoners and some wounded," Richelieu began, trying to refocus him on the more important points.

Louis' face lost its conviviality. "It is enough that they are still here at Versailles for tonight. I want them moved to Paris at the first opportunity. That is another reason why I shall remain here; I refuse to travel at the same time as prisoners."

Tréville broke his silence. "Might I suggest, Sire, that the only ones to be transferred to the Châtelet or Bastille are the nobles at the centre of this plot? To send sufficient men to guard and escort all the prisoners would deplete the number of Musketeers and Red Guard who are fit enough to offer regular security. We have had a few tragic losses and other men are wounded."

"What about all the others who fought and either surrendered or were captured?" Richelieu frowned at the prospect of releasing all of them.

"They were ordinary, untrained men who should never have seen battle. Many of them were slain. They came from the estates and would be known to the imprisoned survivors who are numb with shock at what has happened," Tréville continued. "They are men of the land who need to go back there in readiness for the harvest. If that is not done, the people may starve in a hard winter and they may not have sufficient stores to plant for next year. There will be women and children enough who are left grieving after this. We know you are merciful, Sire; let your people see and know this too. Send those men home."

Louis was listening carefully and clearly considering what the Musketeer Captain was proposing.

"What of the militia men?" Richelieu wanted to know. "There were plenty of those too."

"Some of them did escape but, again, I ask what can be gained by imprisoning them?" Tréville pressed.

"They fought against His Majesty. An example should be made of them for their actions," Richelieu insisted.

Athos understood what Tréville was meaning; after all, he had kept his own militia at Pinon.

"Their actions were the result of following orders," he took up the explanation. "All that matters to them is the pay they receive in service to their lord; many would not question what they were being told to do. Even some of them would have felt coerced. Send them home too. I presume the estates of the imprisoned nobles will be confiscated and given as rewards to others who are more deserving. The militia men will swiftly change their loyalties to a new liege lord. If not, they will move on and sell their sword skills to the highest bidder. As far as they were concerned, there was nothing personal for them in this conflict against Your Majesty; they did not stand to benefit from anything directly."

"You would have me release so many men?" Louis wanted clarification.

"Think of how your people would respond to this significant act of mercy," Tréville prompted.

"It is the nobles who acted against you who are the ones deserving punishment," Richelieu added, warming to the suggestion.

"And the charge will be treason?" Louis asked.

The three men nodded in agreement.

"I can have Musketeers escort them tomorrow. They can leave at daybreak." He looked at Athos. "Porthos, Claude and d'Artagnan can be in charge. Aramis will need to remain here tending the wounded."

"Whilst some of the Red Guard can accompany the ordinary men until they are a distance beyond Versailles. Then they will be left to their own devices to get back to the estates from which they originated," Athos stated.

"Make it so," Louis ordered. "I would not have these treacherous persons here at Versailles any longer than necessary."

Athos and Tréville exchanged a satisfied glance. This was going better than either of them had anticipated.

"All that remains now, Your Majesty, is to decide what is to happen with your brother, the Duc." Richelieu was the one to raise the unpleasant topic.

It touched the monarch deeply as his eyes filled with tears.

"What is to be done with the traitor?" Louis asked, his bottom lip quivering in distress.

"I am afraid we cannot bring a charge of treason," the Cardinal sighed.

Louis was amazed. "What? After what he has done?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty. We know he brought armed men across France without your knowledge, but he claims that he simply _forgot, _something that we can neither prove nor disprove. He did warn you, Sire, of the plot and claimed that he had a man at the meeting acting as his spy. Gaston also insisted that his men were there to fight in your defence which, in the end, is what they did, ensuring that the victory was ours. The rebels believed those men were being provided to help their cause and his explanation was that he had to act in such a manner as to convince them that he intended to fight on their side when, all along, he was committed to your cause."

"And do you believe him, any of you?" Louis demanded.

"No, Sire; we do not," Tréville answered for all of them, "but we cannot prove it."

"What of the men who were his messengers? His spy at Troyes? The two men you arrested yesterday?" Louis spluttered, his anger emerging from helplessness.

Athos deferred to Tréville for the explanation.

"De Mayenne, who was arrested in Paris, was being brought here for questioning when his heart gave out. He was, unfortunately, a man of considerable size and the journey was too much for him.

"Allaire was released from custody this morning and we know that he rode out of Versailles shortly afterwards. We firmly believe that he had been sent to Gaston's men to tell them to fight for you, but we cannot prove otherwise."

"Can you not ask him? Put pressure on him?" the King demanded.

Tréville took a deep breath. "Sadly, no, Your Majesty. His body was found on the battlefield. He had ridden in with Gaston's men. As for L'Hernault," he looked at Athos. "We know that Allaire released him before riding out and that he went into hiding. I initiated a search, but he was nowhere to be found. I shot him dead to stop him from killing Athos after the battle."

There was silence at his news.

"So there is no-one to speak against Gaston?" Louis sounded broken. "If we have no grounds for execution, I cannot exile him either."

"Sadly not, Sire," Richelieu said, "but I do have a suggestion. You can banish him from court and confine him to his Orleans estate. Restrict any movement. I can make sure that …" and here he hesitated, "my people in the area keep him under surveillance. He will not be able to do anything or have guests without I learn about it."

Louis made an immediate decision. "Do it, Armand, and do it now so that he can make ready for his departure. He is to be gone before I rise tomorrow. There will be no leave-taking for I do not want to have to look upon him ever again. He is not to be trusted."

Richelieu dabbed at his lips with a napkin and pushed back his chair. "Consider it done, Your Majesty."

The two Captains took this as their cue to leave as well.

"We must make our rounds, speak with the men and visit the injured," Tréville explained. "Thank you for the food, Sire."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Athos added. The two men bowed and followed the Cardinal out of the room.

"Er, Captain," Richelieu said when the door closed behind them.

It took Athos a moment to realise that the Cardinal was speaking to him and he straightened up, wishing that he could do his rounds as quickly as possible and be left to crawl into bed.

"I would speak with you before you make your rounds. Please wait for me in my office and I will be there as soon as I have informed Gaston of the King's wishes. Should he prove awkward as a result, we may need to have a heavy Musketeer and Red Guard presence in the morning to ensure that he departs as desired."

The two soldiers watched him go.

Athos sighed; he had an undesirable sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Now what does he want?" Tréville wondered aloud.

"I do not know," Athos replied. "I have an idea and I only hope that I am wrong."


	120. Chapter 120

_**Good afternoon, all,**_

_**Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read and leave comments.**_

_**I am sure you have realised by now that we are fast approaching the end of the story. The writing of it is now complete and I ought to warn you that the last instalment, an epilogue, will be uploaded on Sunday.**_

_**It's been a long, strange journey with this one. I first had the idea for it (and started writing it) back in 2014 when the first series was airing and it was actually begun before 'Renegade' - but then I 'lost' it when the laptop died and it was unrecoverable. Fortunately not much of it had been penned. In the end, it was fortuitous as the story then evolved into the much more complex plot you have been reading. It's been 10.5 months in the writing and 9.5 months in the uploading. It began as I started my 3-month adventure in the US and ends in lockdown, an enforced separation from friends and family that has lasted almost as long as the trip so far. That's when I set myself the challenge to upload a chapter every day and I have to say that I have amazed myself. Just checked and I missed one day (very early on) in the last 47!**_

_**I could say I don't know what I'll do next week but I have so many other writing projects on the go and need to turn my attention to them. I will be back - I would miss so many of you otherwise and hope we can stay in touch via PM. The next story will be 'Reliquary'. It is one that has been in mind for 2 years now and will again be novel length and I am really quite excited about doing it but it does require a period of research first. Please be patient with me regarding 'Repercussions'. I do intend finishing it but I still have a block about it, coming as it did at the worst time of my life. I do not want to leave you up in the air with it as I always thought/hoped it was a good storyline.**_

_**So, what did Richelieu want with Athos?**_

CHAPTER 120

As he sat waiting in Richelieu's office for the Cardinal's return, Athos spent the time considering what he wanted to say. It was not something that he found easy for his mind repeatedly went blank as exhaustion threatened to claim him.

"Soon," he chastised himself aloud. "You will be in your bed soon. You just have to keep going for a little while longer."

The sound of the door opening had him leaping to his feet, but Richelieu waved at him to resume his seat as he bustled around his desk and also sat.

"How do you think the Red Guard conducted themselves today?" the Cardinal demanded.

"Very well," Athos answered without hesitation. "They followed orders to the letter and all preparations had been completed. I could not have asked any more of them."

Richelieu huffed in satisfaction. "Casualties?"

"Two dead, unfortunately. Nine more were wounded, but they are all expected to make a full recovery."

"Good," the Cardinal acknowledged. "I will make sure the deceased have a fitting burial."

"Grenouille was among the injured." He saw the Cardinal raise an eyebrow in question and pressed on. "He risked his life saving that of a Musketeer fighting beside him. I have had much to do with the man in the last day or so and I would speak for him now. He deserves to be re-instated as lieutenant in the Red Guard. He is brave, organised and efficient when given the opportunity. That was Planque's failing, borne out by his entries in his journal. He did not give Grenouille the chance to demonstrate what he could do, to show why you had seen fit to promote him to that rank. You must have had your reasons. Consequently, the man was frustrated and understandably so.

"He knows he should not have behaved as he did but I can only speak highly of him; I have had nothing but support from him. He knows the men of your regiment well and they listen to him. It is he who relayed many of my orders and ensured that they were fulfilled. Give him a man worthy of following as Captain of the Red Guard and he will be completely loyal."

It was a veiled warning to Richelieu that he ought to take more care in selecting a permanent successor to the position of Captain. Athos bit back the comment he wanted to make about the Cardinal not having made a good choice with Planque and his predecessor.

Richelieu steepled his fingers. "I have given the situation much consideration and made my choice. It is by far the best for the regiment and me."

Athos nodded, relieved. "That is good, Your Eminence. So when will he assume command? Is he here at Versailles or do you wish me to take the men back to Paris first and hand over there?"

There was a long silence as Richelieu studied him hard.

"You misunderstand me. The man I have chosen is already in position."

Athos broke out in a cold sweat as his fears were realised.

"I hate having to admit this," Richelieu continued, "but you have long impressed me, Athos of the Musketeers. Yes, you have had disagreements with my men in the past but perhaps this would do much to create a more lasting peace between the two bodies of soldiers. I do not have your like within the Red Guard, and I would change that. You have a sharp mind; you're tactical, strategic, and you see alternatives. You are skilled with a sword, a fine example for the men to follow. If you can unite a fragmented regiment, sway them to follow you and lead them successfully into battle in the space of twenty-four hours, what could you not achieve when given the permanent command?"

Athos moistened his lips to deliver the answer he had practised, for he had seen this eventuality coming.

"I thank you for your faith and trust in me and for the opportunity you have provided. I know that circumstances dictated that you had to do something and quickly, but I am grateful for the experience. It was, however, only meant to be temporary and Captain Tréville released me to you – loaned me, if you like – on the understanding that I would return to the Musketeers as soon as possible."

"To be a lieutenant and waiting in the shadows until Tréville decides that he's getting too old for the position and steps aside to make room for you? I am giving you a command now, man."

Athos took a deep breath to suppress his rising anger; he was not happy hearing his Captain spoken of in such a manner. _His Captain. _His choice of words said it all.

"Again, I thank you, Your Eminence, but I must decline your kind offer. I agreed to this arrangement only because it was a matter of urgency and because I knew that I would return to my regiment and my brothers. I am a Musketeer. I swore an oath and I will not break it. I am the King's man and I am Captain Tréville's man."

"Tréville's man!" Richelieu scoffed.

"He has been good to me," Athos retaliated. "I owe him my life – not least this afternoon - and my loyalty."

Richelieu opened his mouth but whatever cutting remark was on his lips remained unsaid. Instead, he fixed Athos with a gimlet stare and seemed to reconsider his next comment.

His words were cold and calculated. "You expect me to re-instate Grenouille as lieutenant and you have demonstrated that you work well together. You have said as much yourself. Perhaps the restoring of his rank should be linked with your remaining as captain."

Athos was anticipating some kind of ploy to keep him but he had not thought of this. He took a deep breath, kept his voice light, and managed a wry smile to suggest that he had not taken offence.

"Come now, Cardinal, are you trying to blackmail me into accepting your offer of command?"

Richelieu's eyes narrowed. "Blackmail is a strong accusation. I would prefer to use the term persuasion."

Athos took time to formulate his response. "Then I fear that your persuasive technique has failed on this occasion, Your Eminence. Perhaps you were just testing me. I would hate to think that a man's prospects solely depend upon something I choose to do or not do. That does not seem considered persuasion but rather coercion. It is entirely my fault and I apologise if I have misinterpreted your words and intentions, Cardinal."

Athos maintained eye contact with Richelieu, his face giving nothing away although he could feel his heart pounding.

"You are an unusual man, Athos of the Musketeers."

"Cardinal?" Athos wondered what the man was going to say next.

"You give little away and yet I suspect you are a man of many secrets."

Once again, Athos felt a burgeoning panic. How much of his past had the Cardinal discovered?

"You are, however, a man of honour and duty; that is very apparent and for that I commend you." He waved a hand dismissively. "Grenouille will have his position. All I ask is that you stay as Captain until we have returned to Paris, at which point you will be relieved of your command. You need not wait until I have selected your replacement."

Athos nodded his acceptance.

"It is a disappointing loss for both of us, Captain. You are surrendering a role for which you are perfectly suited, and I lose someone on whom I can rely. I just hope that you do not live to regret it. Do not worry, though. I do not make the same offer twice. Dismissed."

Richelieu picked up a document and pretended to read it as Athos rose and left.

Tréville, having visited the injured Musketeers, was waiting for him when he emerged.

"What happened?" the Captain asked.

"I think," Athos said slowly, "I have just upset the Cardinal."

"And you've never done that before?"

"Not like this. He wanted me to stay in position as Captain."

Tréville sighed. "I suspected that he might do this." He looked at Athos sharply. "And you refused him?"

Athos was startled. "You have to ask me that?"

The Captain looked suitably chastened. "I thought I should not make assumptions."

Athos rolled his eyes.

Tréville huffed in amusement. "I wish that I had been a fly upon the wall when you did not accept his offer."

"He did look more than a little surprised." Athos admitted.

The Captain grew serious again. "He is a man not used to rejection. You may have just made yourself a formidable enemy, Athos."


	121. Chapter 121

_**Good afternoon.**_

_**Hope this finds you all well. Thank you so much for reading and leaving comments, and for the lovely private messages. I will respond in the next few days - probably Sunday when I take a 'day off' from the writing.**_

_**So, what happens next?**_

CHAPTER 121

I

The two men made their rounds together, first to the Musketeers and then to the Red Guard for Captain Tréville, as the overall officer in command of the enterprise, wanted to thank them for their part in the day's success.

There was much that had still to be done with both regiments.

The general duties had to be assigned for the next day and then the additional, more specific ones. Men were selected to take the arrested nobles back to Paris the following morning with Porthos, d'Artagnan and Claude in charge. A contingent of Red Guard was chosen to accompany the prisoners designated for release well beyond the lodge and its surrounding area whilst a group of Musketeers was identified for the afternoon's hunt.

Serge pressed bowls of mutton pottage into their hands and they stood and ate, the simple fare being more to their liking than the food ordered by the King. The cook regaled them with his version of the battle. Remarkably, both camps had survived with minimal damage.

"We escaped lightly in the end," Tréville admitted. "We had tried to foresee any eventuality."

The corners of Athos' mouth twitched. "We did go out of our way to imagine the most dire possibilities."

"And in so doing, we were not found wanting," Tréville reminded him.

It was two hours before they walked back towards the hunting lodge for the night. The Musketeer repeatedly shot sideways glances at the young man by his side as if he might still collapse.

"You will soon be able to rest."

"I do feel that I might sleep for a week," Athos conceded.

"Sleep as long as you can tomorrow," Tréville ordered. "With Grenouille out of action, I can easily look in on the Red Guard until you are out and about."

"Renege on my responsibilities!" Athos exclaimed in feigned horror. "Whatever will the Cardinal say? I am already demoted on his list of favourite people."

Tréville chuckled. "You think the Cardinal keeps such a thing as a list of favourite people?"

They reached their entrance to the lodge.

"I am going to visit Grenouille again to see if he is awake this time. I want to give him the good news," Athos said as he opened the door for the older man. "I was wondering if I might visit you afterwards, unless you were wanting to retire immediately, of course."

Tréville smiled. "I brought a bottle of brandy with me. I shall pour us a drink in readiness."

II

Grenouille was pleased to see the young Captain and immediately apologised for being asleep when he last visited. "Your friend probably slipped me somethin'."

"Aramis tends to do that," Athos quipped. "Anyway, you look considerably better than immediately after the battle."

"The only way I could look worse would be if I was dead."

Athos snorted. "I am glad to see that you have lost none of your humour, Grenouille."

They lapsed into a companionable silence.

"You were right about your friend Aramis. 'E's a good man with the needle." Grenouille was smirking. "Claimed you gave 'im plenty of practice."

"And I could say that I was merely giving him the practice he needed."

Now, the injured Red Guard laughed. "I like the banter between you all. It's a sign of a strong friendship, of men who care about each other. Don't ever take it for granted."

"I do not, I assure you."

"So, what's been 'appenin' since the battle then? Aramis didn't know much on account of bein' in 'ere workin'."

Athos quickly updated Grenouille on the clearing up process, casualty figures, the rounding up of the prisoners and what their future held.

"I'm glad the King's lettin' so many of 'em go; showin' 'em mercy. They should never 'ave been 'ere. They didn't know 'ow to fight, most of 'em."

"I agree; it was a terrible and unnecessary waste of lives."

"So it's the nobles that'll be facin' punishment?" Grenouille wanted to know.

"The charge is treason," Athos explained.

"What about the King's brother, the Duc then?"

"Ah!" Athos sighed. "No so straightforward. The charge cannot be proven as he ordered his men to fight for the King."

Grenouille puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. "So 'e goes free, pardoned by 'is brother!"

"Not exactly pardoned and not free either. His Majesty will have nothing more to do with him and demands that he is gone from Court early in the morning. He is confined to his estate."

"An' the King reckons 'e'll do as he's told an' stay there out of trouble?" Grenouille was incredulous.

Athos gave a slight shrug. "We can hope. Anyway, I did not come here to talk about the rebels and Gaston, I have brought you some good news."

"You're goin' to stay on as Captain?" Grenouille said, hope in his eyes.

"I will tell you what I told the Cardinal. I am honoured but the answer is no. I am a Musketeer."

"He tried to get you to stay then."

"Yes he did, but I do not wish to talk about him either. Are you going to listen?" He broke off until Grenouille nodded and made a big pretence of silence. "I have spoken to the Cardinal about you. In just over a day, you proved your worth to me time and time again; you gave me your total support without question; you prepared the men and were a fine example to them on the battlefield itself. And then, as if that were not enough …" Athos voice suddenly caught, and he cleared his throat.

"On a personal note, you saved Porthos' life. For that, you have my undying gratitude. If you ever need help, come to me and, if it lies within my capability, I will move heaven and earth to assist you."

Eyes tearing up at the heart-felt words, Grenouille extended his hand and Athos took it in a firm grip.

"In the meantime," Athos gave a small smile, "it pleases me to tell you that you are restored to lieutenant of the Red Guard with immediate effect."

Aramis was sitting with an injured man in the next room when he heard the joyous shout and he could not suppress a grin.


	122. Chapter 122

_**Thank you again for reading and leaving comments and private messages.**_

_**Here is the penultimate chapter.**_

CHAPTER 122

I

Tréville was setting out two cups and the brandy bottle on the table when the light tap came at the door.

"Enter!" he called out, unbuttoning his coat. He was just in the process of throwing it on the bed when Athos walked in.

The Musketeer Captain smiled in welcome and gestured towards a chair.

"Sit yourself down," he invited, indicating a seat as he poured them both a drink.

Athos slipped off his doublet and hooked it over the back of the chair before he settled himself.

Tréville noted how slowly Athos lowered himself and took pains to school his own features for he did not want the young man to see his concern. There were no two ways about it - Athos looked terrible.

His face was grey, his eyes – heavy with exhaustion – were darkly circled and he looked gaunt.

"It seems an age since I last encountered two days as manic as yesterday and today," Tréville said, picking up his drink. "Let us make a toast to a few peaceful days at least. I have learned from bitter experience that it is unlikely to last much longer than that."

They gestured with their cups and let them collide lightly. As they drank, a heavy silence settled between them.

"Thank you," Athos said abruptly. "You saved my life today."

"You would have done the same for me. I am only sorry that I did not come to your aid sooner but as I said, I had already discharged my pistols and had to reload as quickly as I could. I moved closer and was attempting to get a clear shot, but I was forced to wait until you went down."

"You made the shot count though," Athos said softly.

"Porthos was running up behind L'Hernault and had almost got to him." Tréville's voice dropped to little more than a murmur. How could he convey the fear he felt on witnessing the bitter fight? "I never thought to see you struggle so."

"I confess I thought it was my time and without your intervention, it would have been. My mind was telling my body what to do but nothing happened; I had no strength left and he fought as a man possessed."

Tréville reached across the table and poured another large measure into Athos' cup before refilling his own. It gave him time to process the young man's admission for he had never expected to hear the like.

"And here I was, concerned that you might be angry with me," he said eventually.

"Why on earth would you think that?" Athos was surprised.

Tréville swallowed a large mouthful of brandy and stared at the cup nestled in his two hands.

"What was between you and L'Hernault was personal and you sought to resolve your family's feud. I was concerned that you would resent my intervention."

"Never!" Athos interrupted. "He was about to kill me! I was helpless and you stopped him. I had already given up all hope of a peaceful resolution to the feud after we interviewed him yesterday. There was no reasoning with him."

"I had to stop him. One of my best men - and my lieutenant – was in trouble."

"You saved my life," Athos repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It was too close this time, son. You gave me the fright of my life."

"I think I frightened myself," the young man admitted. "I still do not know how I managed to roll out of his way when he fell."

Tréville sat back in his chair and downed his drink in one go. He refilled his cup and pushed the bottle across to Athos before he spoke again. "I blame myself, you know."

"Blame yourself for what?" Athos was confused.

"For letting you come to Versailles. I knew you were not fully recovered. I was a fool to think I could keep you back out of harm's way."

"Captain, we both know I made life very difficult for you in Paris."

"I won't deny that," Tréville cut in.

"I was so determined to be here. Besides, neither of us could have foreseen how things developed with Planque, the Red Guard … all of it."

"Your overwhelming sense of loyalty, duty and honour are to your credit, but they will get you killed if you are not careful and I am not just talking about in a battle. Damn it, Athos, it is only two weeks since you were at death's door!* I should never have permitted you to come; in doing so, you were nearly killed."

"I did not become a Musketeer for an easy life," Athos declared.

Tréville looked at him astonishment and then laughed. "If that's your way of telling me that being a soldier is a dangerous occupation, then don't proceed to tell me what I already know! I became a soldier before you were born!"

Athos frowned. "I don't think …"

"Before you try to work it out, I'll tell you. It was shortly before my fifteenth birthday."

"I would not have thought it," Athos said, his eyes widening, "but you _were _a soldier before I was born! No offence meant," he quickly added.

"None taken," Tréville raised his cup to his lips and eyed the younger man over the rim. Before he drank again, he decided to see if the enigmatic, former aristocrat might be in the mood to reveal anything more of his past. "What were you doing at fifteen?"

Athos' eyes narrowed and the Captain feared that he had pushed him too far, that he would close in on himself, categorically refuse to answer, change the subject or make excuses to leave.

He did not do any of those, much to Tréville's surprise.

"As Vicomte, the son and heir to a large estate, I was reminded daily of my good fortune, my privileged position and huge responsibilities. I was not afforded the same freedom as my fun-loving younger brother. Each morning, my tutor worked me hard in my numbers, literature, Latin and military history. Two hours or more in the afternoon were divided between a master swordsman and the head groom in developing my riding and hunting skills. More time was spent with my father's steward, pouring over ledgers and maps of the estate. 'Learning the business', my father called it. I was instructed in land use, maintaining the forests, the work of the estate tenants and the King's laws. And to ensure that my education was well-rounded, that I had some understanding of the finer things in life, my mother taught me about art, music and how to dance."

Tréville listened, unwilling to break the precious moment that presented him with a rare, valuable insight into his lieutenant's upbringing. He had certainly been kept busy and it went a long way to explaining his sense of duty and honour. But in the midst of all this, had he had the chance to be a boy?

Athos' lips twitched at a fond memory. "And by night I dreamed of becoming a soldier."

"Your dream came true," Tréville said gently and, as Athos' face clouded over, he wondered again at the event or events that had been so traumatic that the young man before him had walked away from his birth-right to begin a new life in the Musketeers.

"Tell me, were you an officer in your dreams?"

Athos shook his head sadly. "No, I was happy with being anonymous, the one following the orders. Expectations were …," he hesitated, "less."

"But why a soldier? Ah, don't tell me, I remember now. Your uncle, the Captain."

Athos nodded. "When he visited, he had such stories to tell. I was mesmerised by them and him. I adored him and so it was inevitable that the boy in me wanted to be like him."

"He sounds as if he had a great influence on you," said Tréville, as Athos' gaze held his.

"You and he are very much alike," Athos quietly admitted.

II

Tréville had just stretched out on his bed when he heard the sound of soft, insistent tapping at the door of the adjacent room. Padding across the floor in bare feet, he opened his own door and peered out into the corridor.

"Aramis, what are you doing?" he whispered.

"Sorry, Captain. I was trying not to disturb you, but I wanted to see how Athos was. I have not seen him for a few hours." He gestured towards the door. "He is not answering though so he is possibly still out doing his rounds."

"We did our rounds ages ago," Tréville said, stepping out into the corridor. "He is in there," he added, as he joined the Musketeer and opened the door with minimal noise. "See for yourself."

Aramis walked into the room and, by the light of a candle burning low on the table, approached the bed.

Athos lay curled on his right side, his hand close to the hilt of a dagger just emerging from beneath the pillow. His face was relaxed, his breathing deep and even as he slept.

Aramis exhaled slowly, his relief tangible. Wary of the concealed weapon, he took the blanket and pulled it up over Athos' shoulders.

"Sleep well, my friend," he whispered, extinguishing the candle before following the Captain out into the corridor again and softly closing the door once more.

"He is exhausted; he didn't even stir," Aramis said.

"The brandy might have helped," Tréville admitted and, when Aramis looked at him quizzically, he continued sheepishly. "He and I just drank a bottle."

III

When Athos opened his eyes, he felt better and more rested than he had done in days. He washed quickly in cold water, dressed, and was tightening his weapons belt at his waist as he left his room. Perhaps he would have time to eat before the prisoners left for Paris under guard.

First, he visited the makeshift infirmaries, glancing through the open doorways as he searched for Aramis. Grenouille was sitting up and waved. Some other beds were empty.

"They've gone back to the camp," Grenouille explained.

"As will you, soon," Athos reassured him before moving on.

Aramis was rolling clean bandages in the third room and grinned on seeing him.

"You slept well then." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Best sleep I have had for a good while," Athos replied.

Aramis chuckled. "No headache?"

Athos frowned. "No. Should I have?"

"According to Tréville, you and he hit the brandy quite hard last night."

"If it helped me sleep, I am not complaining and if you are not too busy, can you spare the time to break your fast with me? I would appreciate the company."

Now it was Aramis' turn to frown. "What time do you think it is?"

Athos sighed. "From your question, later than I thought. A little midday something then?"

Aramis laughed aloud. "You have no idea, have you?"

Athos was confused. Setting down the bandage, Aramis walked to his friend, slid an arm around his shoulders and walked him outside. He chuckled again as Athos' stomach rumbled noisily.

"I was going to suggest that you let me take out those stitches but that can wait until later. First, we'd better see if Serge has something to take the edge off your hunger before dinner."

"Dinner!" Athos was shocked.

"Yes, you have slept the night and most of the day away. Tréville gave strict orders that you were to be left alone."

"But the Red Guard?" Athos objected.

"He has been to see them and give orders; they are fine."

"Any other news?"

"Porthos, d'Artagnan and Claude led a large escort to Paris taking the nobles to the Châtelet. Many other prisoners were released and led from Versailles by the Red Guard but the thing that has caused most gossip and speculation today is Gaston's hurried departure." Aramis was enjoying sharing the news.

"He's gone?"

Aramis nodded. "Before most people were up and about this morning. He just slipped away. Tréville sent some Musketeers out to the camps where his men were but they had gone too."

"I wonder how he got word to them," Athos wondered aloud.

"Richelieu didn't send some of the Red Guard?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Gaston must have sent some of his servants as he was short of friends and messengers after yesterday," Aramis speculated.

"Or Richelieu has some other messengers or agents here that we do not know about."

"It's possible, I suppose," Aramis agreed. "We'll probably never know."

"Where's Tréville now?" Athos asked.

"Still out on the hunt with the King. They're due back any time now."

Athos tutted. "I have missed that as well! When I awoke, I was feeling so much better, I was going to suggest that I join the hunt."

Aramis laughed at his disappointment. "Next time, Athos. Next time!"

_**Today's little gems:**_

_**'death's door' – the expression dates from the mid-1500s.**_

_**The story of Athos' Uncle Raoul is told in 'Retribution.'**_


	123. Chapter 123

**_Good afternoon, all._**

**_So here it is, the end of the story that has been so many months in the making. You might even find out what has happened to Athos' stitches! (lol) Thank you for coming along on this journey with me. I have loved hearing from you and hope that we might keep on touch via PM. I know I shall miss doing the daily updates for a while._**

**_I promise that I will be back and, as I said the other day, the next story will be called 'Reliquary' (got to keep that 'R' stable going!) It's another season 1 story and I am thinking that, as this was before S1E3, 'Reliquary' will probably come shortly after the episode._**

**_What will it be about? Well, I can promise another adventure (as Aramis says towards the end here) and probably another convoluted plot! _**

**_A precious reliquary holding a Norman saint's bones is to be returned from England to France and Louis wants it to be brought to Paris so that he can see the bones first before they are finally taken to the place of the Saint's birth. Our intrepid heroes are sent to collect/escort the reliquary. Sounds straightforward so what could possibly go wrong?_**

**_Is everything as it seems for a start? Throw into the mix some historic misdeeds surrounding the reliquary itself and at least one new 'baddy'._**

**_ Remember, also, that Athos has upset the Cardinal in 'Revenge' and who knows? Grenouille might put in appearance, Claude is still there and, unfortunately, so is Delacroix. Will any or all of them make an entrance?_**

**_And the long suffering Captain Treville will be attempting to keep everything under control._**

**_So, until the next time (I don't know when as I have to crack on with some other projects but I'll try not to be 'silent' for too long), look after yourselves and stay safe. _**

**_And a huge 'thank you' once again to all who have read, commented upon, followed and 'favourited' this story. Your support makes it all worth while. _**

EPILOGUE

Two weeks after the battle of Versailles – so named by the Musketeers and Red Guard – two riders walked their horses along a road and came to a stop.

Aramis sat in silence as he let his friend study the large, open gates set in a high wall that surrounded the religious enclave.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked gently.

Athos sighed and hung his head. "No, nothing." He sounded disappointed. "I had hoped that returning here might have had some familiarity."

Aramis reached across and cupped the bent neck in his hand.

"Don't worry. It's understandable. When your horse brought you here, you were in no fit state to remember anything and you were no better when we left. Perhaps a memory will stir once we are inside. Come."

He urged his mount to walk on through the gates into the yard beyond and, after some hesitation, Athos followed.

"Aramis! Aramis!" a voice cried out in greeting and, from a doorway, an elderly man in a robe came hurrying as quickly as he could.

"Hello, Theodore," Aramis said, dismounting and grasping the outstretched hands in his.

The man looked past him to where Athos slipped gracefully from his saddle and stood awkwardly watching as three more men appeared from different directions.

"And this," said the one called Theodore, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks. "This is Athos?" He moved past Aramis and reached for the other Musketeer, who had frozen, his eyes wary for there was nothing familiar in the buildings around him or any of the men.

"You are completely recovered now?" the man asked.

Athos nodded, "Completely."

With a cry, Theodore threw his arms around Athos, who was decidedly uncomfortable at such a tactile display from someone who, to him, was a total stranger. He stood, arms held out from his body and not reciprocating as his green eyes implored his brother for help.

Aramis touched the old man's shoulder. "Theodore, Athos has little or no memory of his time here."

Begging forgiveness at his emotional outburst, Theodore released the younger man and stepped back.

"Athos, you've met Theodore." Aramis indicated the lay brothers in turn as he introduced them. "This is Anselm, Robert and Bartholomew. Gentlemen, this is Athos, your patient."

"Come, have some refreshments and we can talk," Anselm said, turning to lead the way into the main building.

Robert moved forward to take the reins of the soldiers' horses.

"Wait a minute," Aramis ordered as he and Athos went to their animals and untied two full sacks from each saddle before they followed the lay brothers inside.

A little while later, the six men were seated down two sides of a long trestle table in the refectory, watered ale and a simple fare set in front of them.

"It is good to see that our prayers have been answered and that you are well again," Bartholomew said stiffly. "I owe you an apology for the way we were treating you. Much of what was done to you was at my instigation. We only wanted to help but instead we made things far worse."

"We would understand it if you hated us," Robert cut in.

"If he felt so strongly, then why is he here with Aramis?" Bartholomew insisted.

"I do not hold it against you," Athos responded as he sought to reassure them. "I know that you were trying to do your best with little experience and limited medicines. Aramis said you were following the written instructions of one of the former monks here."

"Yes, but his methods were outdated as we learned with you. Our actions could have cost you your life," Theodore was not to be eased in his distress.

There was a hint of a smile. "But they did not, as you can see. I am here."

"Do you remember anything at all of being here?" Theodore wanted to know.

Athos thought about his answer. "As Aramis told you earlier, I remember little of what passed here. I have only a few snatches of recollections."

He was not about to add to their apparent guilt by admitting that those same fractured memories were unpleasant.

"So, apart from letting you see that Athos is alive and well, we have another purpose for being here," Aramis said, clearing the table directly in front of him and depositing one of the sacks on it.

"We have brought some things for you," he went on, opening the sack to bring out some bottles and packets. "I have prepared draughts, lotions and ointments here to restock your shelves."

The lay brothers were overwhelmed by the gesture, excitedly reaching for some of the bottles and all speaking simultaneously, such was their gratitude.

"And Athos copied my notes on how to make more, treat ailments and, more importantly, the strength and frequency of doses. He has a very legible hand."

Now the four men were speechless, looking from one to the other of the Musketeers as if in disbelief.

"You have done that for us?" Theodore was incredulous.

Aramis grinned. "And I know we are imposing ourselves upon you but we're hoping you can find beds for us tonight. Our Captain has spared us for two days to talk you through everything. We need to be back in Paris tomorrow evening."

The lay brothers were beside themselves, clapping hands with glee and chattering excitedly.

"It is no imposition at all; we welcome you. Of course we have beds for you," Anselm told them. "It is the least we can do for your generosity to us."

"Then I will leave you to explore the contents of the other sacks," Aramis said, casting a sideways glance at his brother. "By your leave, I would like to take Athos for a quiet walk to see if anything stirs his memory."

Minutes later, the two soldiers were in the empty infirmary. Aramis stood, arms folded across his chest and worried eyes focused on Athos who was slowly walking the length and breadth of the room.

Eventually he shook his head. "Nothing."

Aramis pointed to one of the beds to his right. "That's where we laid you to look after you; we hung sheets around it to give you some privacy as there were other patients in here then." He gestured towards the far end of the infirmary. "We moved them all down there."

Athos focused on the door along one wall and looked questioningly at Aramis who nodded, his dark eyes marred with concern.

The difficult conversation between them had happened at Versailles as Aramis was removing the stitches and they were alone. In the early days of Athos' recovery, the marksman had been careful to speak very generally about finding him with the lay brothers, acknowledging only that he had lost too much blood, his wound was seriously infected and that there had been some worrying incompetence in his treatment and medication.

Athos had looked down on the tousled head as Aramis knelt at his side and gently worked on the stitches.

"Tell me about when you found me."

Aramis paused in his work but did not look up. "I have already told you."

"You told me what you thought I should know," Athos said. "Now, I am ready to have you tell me the rest."

"How much do you remember now?" Aramis asked, knowing that the memories had gradually been returning and that something must have initiated the request.

"Just unrelated fragments. I cannot tell the difference between reality or hallucination for much of it. I am aware of an overwhelming white-hot agony and …" he paused, "I remember brief moments of utter misery; of my cramping bowel and stomach."

Aramis sighed and sat back on his heels. "Let me finish this first. Then I will get us some wine and I promise I will tell you everything."

And so he told him.

Now, Athos stood just inside the door to the 'dying room'.

"So this is it?" he said quietly.

"This is it," Aramis confirmed, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. There was no need to say that this was where Athos had come so close to breathing his last.

"Thank you again," Athos said suddenly. "for saving my life," he added.

"You've already thanked me, several times," Aramis said softly.

"It does not hurt to say it again. If not for you and the Captain, I would not be here right now."

"But you are here, just as you said to Theodore and his friends, and I have said many a grateful prayer for that," Aramis said, and then, all seriousness gone, he grinned broadly. "I could ask you not to do anything like it again but, given the associated risks of our chosen occupation, I know that I am asking the impossible."

"Perhaps I could try to keep out of trouble for a few days," Athos offered, straight-faced.

"I would settle for that," Aramis agreed. "Until our next adventure, that is. Come, we had better get back to the others so that I can begin their instruction."

Athos followed but hesitated in the doorway, surveying the room one last time. His lips twitched in thinly veiled amusement.

"There is just one thing, Aramis. I hope those beds for us tonight are anywhere except in this infirmary and the dying room!"


End file.
